#to match blood moon wolves

[sunshineandviolets]

Werewolves vs Vampires, aka all my mcs from Blood Moon & Thicker Than by @barbwritesstuff [picrew used here]

The Wolves: Arielle (she/her) // Minerva (she/her) // Hyeon (he/him) The Vampires: Isha (she/her) // Rohan (he/him) // Chandrika (they/them)

[igbylicious]

under the new moon [yunsan x reader]

pairing: yunho x f reader x san

rating: 18+

genre: werewolf au, smut, hurt / comfort

summary: an altercation with a hunter leaves you wounded, trapped in an aggressive frenzy, but Yunho and San know exactly how to safely bring you back home to them.

wc: 2.9k

general warnings: established relationship, supernatural werewolf strength for everyone, she/her pronouns for reader, pov switches, mentions of blood & injury, reader killed a werewolf hunter in self-defense, a pinch of angst, reader is literally feral and tries to fight yunsan first, they calm you down w/ sex ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

smut warnings: dom Yunho & San, feral sub reader, rough sex, manhandling, scratching, choking, biting, breeding kink, belly bulge, they got big dicks ofc, cum inflation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, knotting, DP (vaginal & vaginal / anal), vaginal / anal fingering, bodily fluids as lube, unprotected sex, pet names (good girl, darling)

a/n: idk yall, it’s not even themed for the mv i don’t know what happened??? maybe it was San’s fur coat maybe it was just the wolf living in my chest cavity. either way this was written in an unedited frenzy in the dark hours of the night, have fun! ( ˘ ³˘)♡

The forest is dark. Only stars shine overhead, the new moon casting no light on the trees and underbrush. Two large wolves prowl through woods, their path guided by the thick, metallic scent of blood.

The forest is quiet. Even during a new moon, its wildlife knows better than to cross the two predators. Even when unable to tap into the full height of their powers, they are dangerous.

Even more so when they are agitated with anger — and worry.

Yunho sniffs at the blood streaked over the bark of a felled tree. It’s still fresh. It’s yours.

San whines in concern, pressing his snout into Yunho’s neck to hurry him along. His black fur makes him near invisible in the cover of night, yellow eyes shining in the darkness. Usually the younger wolf is too rash, but tonight his impatience is justified. They don’t know how badly wounded you are. How much time you still have.

They found the hunter about two miles back, or what was left of him. Torn apart; a gaping hole in his abdomen opened by furious claws, his neck shredded by sharp teeth. (Deservedly so, Yunho had thought with quiet rage, when he saw a bloodied spearhead by the hunter’s side. The wooden shaft was shattered to pieces.)

Your trail leads them deeper and deeper into the forest, the night cold doing its best to penetrate Yunho’s thick silver fur. He tries to keep his head clear, to focus on finding you. He can’t afford to be distracted now, not by anger, not by fear, not by guilt.

It was a mistake, to let you go off on your own tonight. He knew the pack would be vulnerable tonight, he knew the human village nearby has been restless.

But Yunho can punish himself for his regrets later, because he also knows two other truths; the blood is still fresh, and you are strong.

They will find you. Alive. They will.

San growls in frustration when your bloody trail dissolves into a shallow river, the scent lost. The two wolves shift back into their human forms, wrapped in large fur cloaks, the ones they can take with them even when they turn. San’s pitch black, Yunho’s streaked with silver, matching the colour of their fur; and now their hair.

“She’s close,” San murmurs lowly, restless as he looks around the seemingly abandoned forest. “I can feel her.”

You are close. Closer than either of them realised.

The underbrush rustles, and San doesn’t even have the chance to blink before a shape pounces him from the shadows, snarling wildly. San curses as bloodied nails claw at his face, grabbing at his assailant to hold them at bay — to hold you at bay.

Yunho’s eyes widen at the sight of you, feral and growling; your body human, but pure primal aggression in your mind. Fur cloak tattered, skin covered in scratches and bruises, an ugly gash on your shin. The injury does nothing to slow you down, momentum and surprise on your side as you pin San to the ground.

Yunho swears under his breath, leaping forward to help San to subdue you.

Fuck. You went too deep.

Had to push yourself too hard under this new moon, dug too deep for the power you needed to survive. Your wolf has overtaken you; and your wolf is still too frenzied to recognise friend from foe. To recognise her mates.

You yowl when Yunho grabs you by the scruff, yanking you away from San. You instantly turn on Yunho, scratching at his chest while you try to bite at the hand on your neck.

“San,” he grunts, hissing at the red marks your nails leave on his skin. “Now.”

San throws himself around you, pressing against your back as he grabs your wrists and locks his arms around your waist, engulfing you in his black furs. You snap at him, teeth flashing, but Yunho’s hand slips around your throat and he forces you to face him.

“Calm. Down,” Yunho growls, his own wolf instinctively rearing up against yours.

You can’t calm down. You can’t. Something is familiar about the two figures surrounding you, their scent like an itch in your memory — but it can’t penetrate the feral haze that’s taken over your mind. Your wolf trashes against their hold, howling danger, pain searing through your injured leg.

The bleeding has stopped by now, your regenerative powers feeding off your frenzy, but no matter how you struggle, you aren’t strong enough to break free from the two men and their strangely enticing smells. The hand on your throat tightens, your growls forced down to a weak wheeze as your body sags in their hold.

“Good. Good girl.” The hand relaxes, but does not release you entirely. Slowly they go down on their knees and lower you to the mossy forest ground, keeping you propped up between them. Long fingers brush up against a scarred patch of skin in the crook of your neck, and sudden heat lashes through you, drawing a sharp moan.

The one behind you groans and presses his nose into your hair, breathing in deeply. “Yunho…” he rasps, pulling you closer into him. Familiar name. Familiar scents. Familiar touch, fire licking sharply at your core. He is naked under his furs, same as you — and the growing hardness that twitches against your lower back is not unknown to you either. “F-fuck, she’s…”

“Yeah,” Yunho murmurs, rubbing his fingers into the mating bite he left on your skin years ago. “Her body remembers who she belongs with. Come, Sannie, let’s help her mind remember too.”

He pushes your tattered furs away to drop on the ground, and San takes immediate advantage to lap at his own newly exposed mark on your shoulder. You jolt in his hold, your wolf pulled in two directions. Yunho instantly tightens his grip again when you snarl and try to bite at San again — but he can smell how your other, stronger instincts are flaring to life. His free hand finds wet slick when it slides between your thighs, a strangled whine torn from your obstructed throat.

San whines at the soft squelch when two of Yunho’s long fingers press inside you. Relief and hunger melt together inside him. You’re safe, back in his arms. They will take care of you now.

A primal need stirs in San’s blood as his teeth scrape over your skin, suckling at his old mating bite like his tongue can tease the memories out of you. Maybe it can. Or maybe it won’t be enough — maybe he needs to fuck them out of you. He groans, feeling dizzy on your scent, and ruts harder against your backside.

You’re trembling, gasping sharply as you’re pushed deeper on Yunho’s fingers by San’s humping. Every noise only fuels his need to fill you up, to ram his cock into your leaking hole until his knot catches, reminding your sweet cunt how the shape of him was made to fit inside you.

“Wanna touch…” he groans, gathering your wrists in one hand so he can reach down the other. Weakly you squirm against his hold; but it’s barely a fight, your aggressive haze subdued by your two mates.

Yunho grunts at the sight; he can’t deny it, his wolf preens at your growing submission. An animalistic urge to claim you, like he’s mating you for the first time all over again. Blood rushes down to his cock, revelling in your whimpers when San pushes another finger into your sopping cunt alongside his.

He watches how your stomach tenses and your thighs shake, telltale signs of a budding release, and he knows damn well his hand on your throat has long become unnecessary. He does not take it away.

Instead Yunho tilts up your head and he leans in, slotting his lips over yours. He groans when your lips part willingly for him, desirous for your mates. You whine as Yunho filthily licks into your mouth, adding another finger as he and San stretch you open for them. They’ll both take you tonight. Together. It hasn’t been said, but Yunho knows that San also knows this.

Mindlessly you grind into the fingers opening you up. You pant into the heated lips pressed against yours, a greedy tongue mapping out the wet cavern of your mouth. Wanton moans spill freely, growing louder with every added finger to your twitching cunt. Every time you think this must be your limit, and every time they prove you wrong, sending your head spinning.

You’re chasing something, barely knowing what it is, but hunting it down with every buck of your hips all the same. Something familiar again, pulling taut inside your aching cunt. It pulls, pulls, tighter and sharper until finally the strings snap. You cry out a ragged yowl as electrified heat tears you asunder, convulsing in the strong arms that hold you up.

You don’t even notice those hungry lips pulling away from your mouth — not until two pairs of teeth sink deep into your shoulder and neck, into those two scarred spots that make your heart sing like it can finally come home.

With a wretched sob you clutch onto them, your hands finally released from San’s iron grip. He presses rough, reverent kisses against the broken skin of your shoulder, his hands clumsy with urgency as he takes his fingers out and grabs onto your waist. He barely waits for Yunho to pull back, too frenzied to finally sink his cock into the wet hole where it belongs.

Yunho chuckles with dark fondness at San’s impatience, running his slick fingers through San’s hair as he presses a kiss on his matted forehead. “That’s it. Show her,” he whispers, and San whines at the encouragement, fingers digging harder into the meat of your hips.

“Y-you too,” he grunts tightly, strained as the last shreds of self-control slip through his grasp. “Our mate— she needs you too.”

Yunho hums in acknowledgement, pressing another kiss on San’s forehead before he pulls back. He takes your arms and loops them around his neck, and his cock twitches at how pliantly you let him move you, nuzzling into his chest. Still trapped in your delirious haze, but your wolf tamed and rendered docile by their command over your pleasure, willingly surrendering you to them.

You whine beautifully, your glistening folds parting to make way when Yunho guides his thick cock inside your loosened cunt. For all their efforts to stretch you open, both of them are big, and Yunho groans when he sees how your stomach bulges as he presses deeper inside. He takes San’s hand and guides it down so he can feel the swell of them in your belly.

And something snaps inside of San.

He bares his teeth with a wild snarl, bucking his hips as he fucks into you recklessly. Fresh bites litter your shoulders, future bruises forming under his fingers on your waist. You’re jostled by his rough thrusts, whimpering loudly as you claw at Yunho’s shoulders.

Yunho growls at the sting of your nails, meeting San’s violent pace. You’re moaning helplessly against his chest, hiccuping soft “ah ah ahh”s as they hit deep inside your needy, sopping cunt.

“Gonna fill you up,” San growls, lost in his frenzy. “Fill that belly with every drop of seed we got. Not gonna stop until we got you stuffed and bred. Won’t even know whose litter it is, won’t even matter. Ours, you’re ours.”

You whine in mindless agreement, trembling between them.

“You like that, hm?” Yunho chuckles, though it comes out more a groan. You’re still so tight around him, San’s cock sliding against his in the snug space they made for themselves inside you. “You remember who you belong with now?”

There’s a hesitation in your squirmy moan, but it only spurs Yunho on harder. He can’t feel his knot begin to swell yet, so he just slams into you, drowning in every wet squelch of your leaking hole, only needing a few hard thrusts before he groans and spills inside you. Yunho hisses when San does not slow down — but his own cock does not soften either, and he suspects this night is far from over.

San moans at the smoother slide as he fucks Yunho’s seed deeper inside your hole. It does not take him long to follow, his hand on your stomach feeling every thrust as he buries himself into you, hips stuttering when he comes with a low growl. He pants against your shoulder, nosing at his mating bite, barely even slowing down through his release. Yunho starts moving again too, drawing fresh moans from your lips.

You feebly gurgle something against Yunho’s chest, the foggy haze in your mind consisting of nothing but white-hot pleasure now.

It’s overwhelming and yet you can’t get enough of it; addicted to the stretch, to the fullness that grows every time they cum inside you, until you can’t take more, their seed leaking out past their thick lengths and bubbling at the rim. You’re losing count, just as you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve clenched around them, milking their cocks as another orgasm was ripped from your worn-out cunt.

You can’t tell anymore where you end and where they begin, their hands and cocks melded into your body — until one hand wanders, first down to your sodden folds to slick up his fingers, then back to your ass. You whine as a thick finger eases past the tight muscle; but your body is so pliant and relaxed, melting away in the haze of pleasure, and soon the slight burn only makes you greedy for more.

San groans when you weakly press your ass back into him, two fingers now working you open. He will knot soon, he can feel it pulsing at the base of his cock, and no matter how well they prepped you, they will tear you in half if they both knot in your cunt.

But San does not mind taking your ass instead — he can feel the beautiful swell of your stomach, distended from the sheer amount of cum that you took so well from them. He did his part there, now happy to spread those plump cheeks and bury himself in your tight hole.

You whimper when San pulls out, a sudden emptiness at the loss of him, but bite down a gasp when he pushes back in. His cock is slick with cum, smoothly continuing his rough pace.

Yunho sighs contently at the loose and easy slide of your cunt, using this chance to only fuck harder into you. He reaches a hand to pull you away from his chest, and grasps your chin to steady you. He tilts your head up, giving himself a good look at the blissed-out expression on your face. Nothing but empty pleasure behind your teary eyes, all your earlier fear and aggression wiped clean. Leaving yourself vulnerable and exposed between them, knowing you are safe here. That you can let it all go.

“Got one more for us, darling?” he grunts, trying to hold back a little longer. “Show us how good we make you feel?”

It feels like the words are coming to you through a thick fog, but you heed them all the same. You can’t help it, not when nimble fingers suddenly press against your clit, pinching at the swollen, oversensitive nub. Your entire body seizes up with a strangled cry, and you sob at the pure, overwhelming fullness as two knots swell up inside you, plugging up both your holes.

You’re shaking, tears spilling down your cheeks as you slowly come down. Four hands move warmly over your body; rubbing your back, your shoulders, the distinct swell of your belly. One of those hands cups your cheek, lifting you up to meet a pair of shiny brown eyes.

Yunho’s eyes.

He smiles tiredly with rounded cheeks, long fingers gently caressing your jaw. Your breath catches at the recognition, staring back at him with wide eyes before you whip your head to look back. There, San gives you a slow, satisfied grin, his cheeks flushed and sweat beading on his forehead.

Relief breaks through your haze, and the sudden outpouring of emotion is too much for you to carry.

San startles when you hiccup a weak sob, and he immediately presses soothing kisses on the scattered bites he left on your shoulder. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. We’re here,” he murmurs. “We got you.”

“I know, I know” you snivel, grateful for Yunho’s careful fingers wiping away your tears. “You found me. I knew you’d find me.”

“Of course we found you,” Yunho smiles as he gently rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “You wouldn’t let us lose you. You always find your way back to us.”

Your shoulder shake silently as their arms wrap around you, engulfing you in their body heat. You slump into their solid, strong frames, relishing how they’re still connected inside you. It will take time for their knots to slowly come down, and they fully intend to use every second of it to lavish you with tender affection. You sink away into the comfort of them, knowing you are safe and home again.

[bellaveux]

kiss of a vampire | w. maximoff

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: injured and alone, wanda finds herself out in the middle of the night, searching for the one person she can trust to help her. on that night, you find out what she truly is.

content warnings: 18+ minors dni. vampire!wanda, human!reader, victorian era, blood, very tiny mentions of homophobia, loss of virginity (?), smut! making out, biting, marking?, soft sex, fingering and oral (r receiving), praising

wc: 3.9k

note: surprise this is my singular contribution for kinktober hehe, happy halloween everyone!

Fall of 1863 in New York was more or less an uneventful time of the year for you. Your mother insists you read as many books as you can find in the manor’s library, and your father insists you go out and attend all those fancy balls and infernal tea parties—all in an effort to make you more presentable for any of your future suitors. It made sense for them to do so. Your mother was a respectable woman in the town, and she married your father, a man of riches, all thanks to that company he founded many years ago. You could honestly care less, not really having to do anything but read your books all day. Occasionally, in the evening when the sun has already set and you got too fed up with turning pages, you went out for a walk down that nice, pebbled trail through the woods, leading you down to that stone bridge over the river.

That’s where you met her. Wanda.

The moon was out. The sun was gone. She didn’t wear a fancy dress like you did the first time you saw her. She wore an unbuttoned vest over her white, well-made dress shirt, black pants, and riding boots to match. Her hair was red, and for a moment, you thought her eyes were the same color. It went away when you blinked, and suddenly, her eyes were green. You had never seen a woman like her before, much less someone similar in town. All the ladies and their voluminous skirts really only had boys, and gossip filled their daily conversations. It was tiring to be around them, but being with Wanda was relieving.

She told stories. Of adventures. Of distant lands you could barely imagine. She’d tell you about the sea, the moon, and the world beyond this little town you lived in. You found solace during your time with her, and you began to look forward to your walks through the woods every evening you could. She’s always there. Like she knows everything… She was your friend. And each time you met her, your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit, and your stomach fluttered whenever you thought about her. You always wondered, does she feel the same? You supposed you’d never find out, because who in their right mind would confess to having feelings for another woman?

Forbidden. Unthinkable. Criminal. That’s what they would say about you. So, you stayed quiet.

During the latest hours of the night, sometimes you’d see the glow of torches outside your window. You hear the noises first. A woman screaming. Pitchforks and shovels thrown up in the air, metal and iron clinking against each other. The sounds of arrows cracking through wood. Monsters, your father would say. They lurk out in the night, waiting and waiting until they come up to their prey and kill… You’ve heard the stories of those vampires, wolves, demons or whatever it is they are. You found it hard to believe. Even more so that so many people are afraid of what they probably haven’t even seen.

But then you see Wanda again. Not on your walk through the woods. Not on the bridge. A quiet knock is what you hear first. You look up from your book in surprise, then see her outside your window, clutching her shoulder in pain. She’s seated on the edge of your window on the other side of the glass, giving you a weak smile despite seeing how confused and worried you were. You rushed over and opened the window immediately, telling her to get in—of course, after you yelled—or whispered, really—at her for showing up at this ungodly hour.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” You exclaimed as you pulled her into your room.

But the moment she winced in pain, you immediately pulled your hands back, afraid that you might have hurt her. You watch her move to lean against the wall underneath the window. She sighs in relief, still clutching her shoulder. Your gaze falls to her hand, right where you see the stains of red seeping through her dress shirt.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding…” You think out loud, carefully watching her as you hold your breath.

The faint glow of torches outside your window shows up in the corner of your eye—people bustling loudly in your street. You could see Wanda duck even further beneath your window, staring up at the ceiling as you began to put two and two together.

“No…” You shake your head and take a few steps back. “You’re the one they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

Wanda’s gaze softened as she turned to you. Her mouth opened for a moment to say something, but she sighed and laughed sheepishly to herself as she shook her head. Then, you see it in her smile.

She looked up at you again, with those kind and caring eyes you’ve seen on her from the moment you met her, “Please, don’t be afraid of me.”

“Your teeth…”

“I know,” she nodded. “But, I need your help. Please. I’m begging you.”

You didn’t know what to do. “Wanda.”

“They’ll come after me if you tell me to leave, (Y/n),” she reasoned, leaning up to show you she was telling the truth.

“Did you… Have you killed someone?” You could barely get it out.

“No!” She said, “I-I haven’t hurt anyone, I promise you! I-It’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him. He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Wanda sighs and turns away from you in shame. “He’s hungry. We… We haven’t eaten in weeks. He’s got a bigger appetite than I do… I-It’s harder to control him. I think he might’ve hurt someone tonight.”

You stare at her. Her eyes were red now. Her breathing was heavy. Her fangs darted out slightly past her parted lips. You take a second to process what she had just told you. And in truth, you should’ve been scared. You should have been throwing her out of the manor, calling for your father to deal with such a monster.

But to you, she was still… just Wanda. If she wanted to kill you, you’d imagine she’d already done it by now.

You left for a moment to head into your washroom in the corner your room where you tried to find all of the medical supplies you currently had. It wasn’t much—a wet rag, a few bandage wraps, and a kit for stitches. You returned with all the items in your arms, and Wanda looked up at you with a thankful smile.

You sat on the floor with her, your white nightgown bunching up against the wooden paneling. “I… I have bandages—”

Wanda shook her head, looking down to avoid your eyes. “Thank you… But, that won’t help.”

“What will?”

Her eyes bore into yours, but her mouth doesn’t move. She has that look on her face that tells you she's too embarrassed to say or ask for it. Her hands squeezed her shoulder in pain, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Tell me, Wanda.” You say firmly, your gaze unwavering, and for a second, you thought she was intimidated by you. She was, in truth, because of her feelings for you.

“Blood.”

You pause. Then, she repeats it again.

“Blood will… replenish my energy. I haven’t eaten, so I’m weak. On a good day, this wound would not even phase me.”

“My blood?”

Wanda nods. Your prolonged silence tells her that there is no way in hell you’d allow her. Her love for you has her hoping for the best outcome—that you’d have mercy on her and help her relieve the pain. But then again, you don’t owe her anything, and this was a lot to ask. The idea of asking felt impossible even though Wanda had already mentioned it, worried that you might refuse or be horrified by the notion.

“Okay.”

She blinks at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. As long as you don’t turn me into a vampire or anything. I don’t mean it to offend you, but it would... complicate things.”

She nods once again, more eagerly this time. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s, um… That’s a completely different process.”

“Okay,” you repeat, scooting closer to her, looking down at your dress and your hands as you begin to wonder if you should get a knife. “I-I’m not sure how to… do this.”

“Your neck.” She tells you. Of course.

You don’t ignore the way her red eyes darken and the way her ears perk up in excitement as you move your hair carefully to one side.

“Is it going to hurt?”

Wanda’s gaze softened at your words, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She watches you nod and holds her breath as she inches closer to you. Your sweet scent fills her nose with a much stronger fragrance than ever before. She has always loved the way you smelled. It soothed her in ways many other things couldn’t. It was divine, enveloping her senses each time she was near you, and she found herself utterly addicted. She had never been this close before tonight, her breath tickling the side of your neck. She could hear your heart beating fast as she moved closer.

You braced yourself, your heart pounding in anticipation for the expected pain of a vampire’s hungry bite. But it didn’t come. Instead, you felt Wanda’s soft, warm lips meet your skin, kissing it so gently in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel her other hand, resting itself on the curve of your waist. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted slightly as Wanda continued to press her mouth to your skin, littering your neck with the softest kisses she could possibly give you. You couldn’t help but notice the frailty and gentleness of her touches and her kisses, as if they were delicate and almost fragile.

Wanda was lost in the feeling of your skin. Every kiss left her craving for more, and she found herself losing control of the overwhelming desire she had been suppressing for so long.

You were so distracted by the soft kisses she left on you that you barely noticed the faint, almost imperceptible sensation of Wanda’s fangs piercing your skin. She was so gentle, and you expected much less when she had promised, but this… It felt too good. A moan slips past your lips as Wanda bites into you. Her first taste of your blood was nothing short of divine. So sweet. So warm. The most delicious thing she had ever put her mouth on. The flavor of you was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through Wanda’s body. Every second that passed as she drank from you, Wanda began to feel her weakened body begin to mend itself. It was as if your blood had breathed life back into her. Wanda’s senses sharpened, and she felt a profound sense of rejuvenation. The pain in her shoulder began to fade away.

Wanda pulled away from your neck, running her tongue softly against the bite, before turning to look at you. The prettiest thing she ever laid her eyes on.

And Wanda couldn’t resist. She pressed her lips gently against yours and sighed against you. You gasp at the feeling as she places her hands over your waist, then down to your hips, pulling you closer against her. A soft moan falls from your mouth and into hers, and Wanda can’t help but groan. She swiped her tongue on your bottom lip, and naturally, you opened up for her, letting her in to explore the expanse of your mouth, the slight taste of iron on her tongue.

Your lips were parted slightly, and your eyelids felt heavy. But you started to feel weak and lightheaded. You found yourself leaning towards Wanda’s touch, unable to hold yourself up without tipping over, and the next thing you knew, she gently scooped you up and carried you to her bed with her mouth still pressed against yours. Kissing you became the next addicting thing for her. Wanda hovered over you as she laid you down on your back.

She pulled away from the kiss and smiled softly, “You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips traveled down to your neck once more, kissing your skin softly as she felt your arms wrap around her neck. This time, you feel it when she bites you again, unable to stop the moan that escapes your mouth. Wanda smiled as she continued to drink softly from you, her hand reaching up behind your dress to pull at the string that was holding your nightgown together as you arch your back and pressed your front against her. Your dress comes loose with a simple tug, and your cheeks flush, a deep shade of red donning your face as you feel Wanda’s hand cupping and groping your breast over the fabric.

After she pulls away, Wanda kisses your skin again, her lips traveling further south and her face coming up in between your plush breasts. She moans against you, your scent filling her nose in the most addicting way. She could smell you. How aroused you were. How wet you were. And tonight, despite all that you’ve given her, she was feeling a little greedy.

“I want you. I want to make you feel good,” she tells you, her voice all breathy against your skin. “I want to touch you.”

“Please,” you begged her, running your hands in her hair as she began to pull the dress off of you, agonizingly slowly.

When your body comes into full view, Wanda can’t help but stare. She mutters a curse under her breath before letting her fingertips run along your stomach, your nipples, your hips, and your thighs, and Wanda feels like she’s in heaven.

“Stop staring,” you say, pouting shyly as the vampire continues to ogle you.

She only smiles, fangs darting past her lips, “I can’t, angel. You look so pretty like this.”

Wanda leans down to litter your skin with wet kisses and small bruises. She eventually makes her way down to your legs, holding your plush thighs in her hands, and she kisses you, running her tongue over each part that she kisses. You allowed her to spread your knees apart, exposing your glistening sex to her shyly as she leans over, her kisses traveling closer and closer to your wet core.

“Spread your legs wider,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of you.

You do as she says, your hands now gripping your bedsheets slightly. Her fingers make their way in between your folds, softly touching your opening. She lets them move up and down, collecting your slick and spreading it all over, down in between and up to your clit, where she presses slightly harder against your bundle of nerves. She sees you when you bite your lip to stop a moan from falling past your lips. Wanda smiled at the sight. Her love bites are littered all over your skin; the bite on your neck looked more delicious than ever, and your pretty face looked up at her like she was the only one who could ever make you feel like this. Hell, it drives her crazy.

With a new sense of determination, Wanda finally slips her cold finger into you, your tight and warm walls wrapping around her digit. She sighs and leans forward to lay her head against your tummy, watching closely as she pushes her finger in, then pulling out with a squelch.

“You’re so wet for me,” she thinks aloud.

She groans, listening to the delicious sounds of your softest whimpers as she fingers you. Another finger slips inside of you, pulling them in and out of your pussy at a faster pace. Your breathing got heavy. You could feel your stomach getting tighter, but before you could come undone, Wanda pressed her thumb to your clit, working you up to your orgasm. Her fingers are long, and she can’t help but add another one into your tight, dripping sex. Her other hand holds your quivering thigh down as you tremble against her.

“W-Wanda, I’m—”

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of being filled up with her fingers. She’s much faster now, curling her fingers into your walls sloppily as she continues to press your clit, pushing you closer and closer to your high. And then, it comes. Wanda travels up and kisses you, swallowing your moans as you fall apart on her fingers, cumming all over her hand. Your back arched and your legs jerked closed as she pushed your legs back open.

Wanda carefully pulls her fingers out of you, but she doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, making you shiver against her. She rubs it in tight circles as her kisses travel back down to your neck, where she takes another greedy bite into your skin, welcoming the taste of your divine blood into her mouth once again. She groans when you pull her hair slightly, getting drunk off of your essence and the way your hands feel on her head.

When she pulls away, she kisses you again. And when she pulls away for a third time, she makes her way down your body, traveling through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, and then her destination—back in between your legs. Her nose nuzzles against your clit, your scent filling her senses all over again.

“W-Wait, Wanda this is…”

You had never done this before. And now that Wanda was face to face with your glistening pussy, you got shy. Wanda only looks up at you and smiles, pressing gentle kisses along your inner thigh.

“I want you,” she reminds you, pulling you closer to her face. “I want to be the first one that makes you feel good. I want it to be me. Only me. Inside of you. I want to see how pretty you’ll look when I have my mouth on you.”

She says it so absentmindedly, her eyes not leaving the sight of your pussy as she spreads your lips apart with her thumbs. You couldn’t help but blush at her words, your face getting hotter each time you felt her breath on your pussy. You felt like time was ticking so slowly, with Wanda staring at you for what felt like hours. You grew tense with anticipation, waiting and waiting for her to do something. And when she finally does, your jaw drops, and a silent moan falls from your mouth. Wanda memorizes every little noise you make, the way you arch your back, or the twitch of your thigh.

She was in heaven. Your inner thighs glistened with arousal as she held you down against your bed, noting the way your hands made their way back to her red hair. Your body was a hot, trembling mess right underneath her as she devoured you, licking every space she could reach with her tongue.

When Wanda looks up and sees your mouth wide open in silent screams, arching your back off of the mattress, your soft hand tugging at her locks in a pitiful attempt to slow her down, she knows you’re close. She grew desperate. She keeps licking you, eager to get you closer and closer to your climax. You’re chanting her name as quietly as you can, eyes closed shut as the pleasure keeps building and building inside of you.

“Wanda, I-I’m about to—”

You whimpered, your legs closing around Wanda’s head. She hummed into your pussy and continued to eat you out right as you came into her mouth. She ran her tongue through your folds and over your clit softly, easing you through your orgasm with a satisfied moan. Wanda practically forced herself away from your sex, wishing for nothing but more time with you. She pulled back and sat on her legs to stare at the beauty right in front of her. She rubbed your soft thighs in soothing circles with her hands as she smiled down at you. You trembled slightly, still shaking from the orgasm she had given you.

You reached out to her, your weak arms lifting from the bed, wanting to be in her embrace again. She obliged happily, leaning down to hover over you once again. Wanda kissed you up your neck, to your jaw, and, lastly, to your lips, the taste of you still lingering on her tongue. She moaned against you and smiled into the kiss when she felt your hands slide from her neck to cup her face.

Then, you remembered.

You pushed her away softly, just so you could look at the blood stain on her shirt, where an arrow had struck her earlier tonight.

“I’m okay, now,” you heard her say.

Running a slow and gentle hand over her shoulder, you took a peek, pulling the fabric down a little bit to see her wound, but nothing was there.

“It’s gone,” you said in awe.

Wanda smiled softly at you as you continued to inspect her shoulder. You looked so beautiful. So unafraid of her. And it made her the happiest woman on Earth. She sighs and leans down to pepper a few kisses on your cheek, still surprised by her healing abilities. But you got distracted again, feeling her soft lips against your skin. The light of a candle on your night table danced across the room as she kissed you. Wanda was so gentle. Like she promised.

After a moment, Wanda turned to look out your bedroom window, where she had come in. Her senses immediately took notice of how quiet it was and how dark it was outside. The night embraced the world outside of your bedroom, blackness stretching as far as her eye could see. It was different from the warmth she felt in this sim room—a room with you, her love. It reminded her of the world and now, the secrets you both carried together.

Your voice pulled her out of your thoughts. “You have to go, don’t you?”

Wanda smiled, knowing you already knew the answer to your own question. “Your mother would throw a fit if they found me here.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the thought, smiling sadly as you begin to play with the fabric of her shirt.

“I’ll come see you again, angel. I promise you.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

Wanda turned her attention back to you, and her heart skipped a beat. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Unable to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed you once more.

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.

With one final, lingering kiss on your lips, Wanda whispered three little words. Then, with a graceful and silent movement, she made her way over to the window through which she had entered. Wanda disappeared into the night, leaving the room she made love to you in. You lay in bed, contentment washing over you as a soft smile played on your lips. She was different from the stories you’d hear about vampires. People called them monsters, and even though you only knew Wanda, she was miles and miles away from being one.

You missed her already.

But just as she promised, you saw her again the next day. This time, with more kisses and closer encounters.

— navigation!

[iwanty0uu]

MAD SCIENTIST X FRANKENSTEIN CONNY

warnings: nsfw-nacrophilia (being frank -no pun intended- he’s literally frankenstein..and frankenstein is a walking corpse so i’ll see you in the next fic if you don't like this series!)

I

Sparks of electricity went flying throughout the chambers of your laboratory, hidden in the mountains of Transylvania, sparks and plugs were connected to the cool metal table that contrasted to your warm, brown skin. Who would’ve thought a girl as soft and plump as you could possibly have mad and deranged tendencies. 

The night was too fresh and quiet which birthed an eerie feeling, which held hands with the thick fog that was all around knew something was bound to happen. Luckily, were used to this cemetery, because you thought that cemetery walks were best at night especially alone with nothing but a shovel in hand and cherry bubble gum in the other.It’s wrapper fell to the ground, scent still lingering as your brown,polished red fingers grabbed the shovel with precision and aimed straight for the mound of dirt that sat before you, almost twice your size.And without a thought, you heaved up as much dirt as your body could carry,  your once white lab coat was now stained brown, and sweat spilled over your knitted brows, threatening to fall into your eyes, your abandoned blood red heels laid beside you, almost giving you the companionship that you begged for, feet only covered by the thin material of your lace pantyhose. Being alone didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to wear lingerie under your laboratory coat..What felt like hours passed by before dirt no longer allowed itself to pour into the metal shovel, and you were met with a clank instead. The sound alarmed you, and the crows above your head watching in curiosity were sent into a flying frenzy, flocking to nowhere and everywhere all at once. Their crows and thunderous wings almost dimmed the sound of the shovel which met the ground with a thud, and a sigh from the scientist to match.

She wipped her hands into her coat,the only thing that provided her warmth at this hour and she fell to her knees.Her dark brown tresses fell to her shoulders, framing her face as her dove eyes interlocked with those that were shut behind the glass of the casket. One wrong hit from the shovel would’ve caused damage to his beautiful resting face, and even more beautiful home. His casket was trimmed with dark purple velvet strands and the glass that revealed his face, or what it once was, happened to be encased by black cedar wood. Her hands ran itself against the smooth but strangely warm material, she pushed her glasses up in pity for the young man who slept eternally too soon,and sounded out the letters that formed themselves underneath her fingertips, the moon refusing to share enough light to see.. “C..o…n..s..t..ance?” She questioned, brows coming together, almost as if they were agreeing with the thoughts in her head. “What a feminine name for such a handsome young man”.. As she angled her head to the left, the moon gifted her with a sliver of light, just enough to read the last name. 

“R. Springer” she breathed out effortlessly, the name rolling off of her tongue as if it was engraved there. “Constance..con-Conny! That’s what I’ll call you my handsome boy..” The smile that grew on her black lined lips was bright enough to convince a blind man that the sun had risen, the blood flushed through her body as her face and hands warmed up, adrenaline giving her the strength of about ten men which allowed her to lift of the casket with ease, and roll it to her wo-mansion on her remote controlled cart that she had created to levy the bodies of men that never made it past the security system, guarded by wolves, and other various poisons and plants. She couldn’t have been more thankful for their intrusions in this moment though, because their hearts would be the reason her beloved would have a new one..

[verystrxxwberry]

We need more ML Content on god 😭🙏

MOONLIGHT LOVERS routes as your partners!

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, only routes, comfort, them as your partners (individual headcanons). ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Of course, and my pleasure to give more ML content! I decided to do the relationship hcs for them as to match it with the Eldarya ones. I hope you enjoy them!

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

 AARON 

Compliments. Aaron is an honest speaker when it comes to his feelings and thoughts. You are going to feel loved thanks to the infinite words he uses to show his love for you. He’s gonna use any single opportunity he has to remind you how beautiful you are as well, no matter if you just woke up, if you came out of the shower, if you are all sweaty… He’d tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and mutter how good looking you are that day. His hands are warm and big, even though they are callous.

Hands. Talking about his big and pretty hands, the way they touch is the most delicate way ever. His thumb will caress your cheek when he cups it, his fingers will caress your back up and down when you are offering him your back in a sign of trust… he’d hold your hand in a gentle manner as if you were a fragile glass.

Manners. He guides you through the forest, using his hand to make sure you don’t slip due to the wet floor or any rock. Or whenever you are both going out, he’s gonna keep the door open for you. You’re never walking through dangerous places if he is there, he’s not gonna allow it as he will make sure you’re safe and in front of him so he doesn’t lose you at any moment.

The same goes for those moments when he has to suck your blood. He will definitely bring water and sugar with him in case you feel bad once he drinks from your blood. He is aware of his bites being hurtful due to his hybrid condition, so that’s why he is extra gentle with you when he has to do it. He normally takes blood from your wrist or collarbone, and will always ask first, no doubt. He can control his instincts as if he is an old vampire, still when he is in heat season or there is a full moon, he can’t help it but feel more attracted to the scent of your blood.

Attentive. Thanks to the time he spent with his pack of wolves, he developed into a natural caring role for him. He notices any slight change on your scent, on the taste of your blood, on your expression, on your voice. He is well equipped with kindness, patience and empathy. He is a good listener and an honest advisor.

Communicative. Since Aaron likes to talk about his honest thoughts and intentions whenever he is going to act, you will be the first one who he will tell about it, and probably the only one. In your relationship with him you will find no problem with communication. He has no taboo, he doesn’t cut a bit when he talks. If you are overthinking something, he will make sure he can reassure you with the truth instead of letting your mind create cruel theories. He likes to listen, but he also likes to talk.

And he actually can talk a lot when he is relaxed and comfortable. Whenever you two go on a walk in the forest, he’d open up to talk about his past with you and many historical things he literally was able to experience because bro has been alive for centuries. He also talks passionately about the things he loves, and it is completely adorable when he gets into that mood.

Lots of forehead kisses.

Pet names: Honey, dear, babe and simply your name. And sometimes he’d spontaneously said some spanish pet names for you (cielo, cariño, bebé and definitely mi vida)

BELIATH 

You might believe that he doesn’t take your relationship seriously but he does. He is the kind of guy to use a lot of dark humor and take everything with a laugh, but when it comes to you, he makes sure that his words can have a positive impact on you.

Physical affection. His way of showing love is definitely being close around you. He isn’t as clingy as you might think, but he likes to rest his hand on your shoulder, over your hand, or simply play with your hair. You’d feel spontaneous kisses on your head, or small massages to your shoulders.

Moondance. Even if you don’t want to go, he will still go to make company for Ethan. But do not worry, he is not interested in any lustful thing with any other person that isn’t you. Beliath thought that he’d never get into a relationship, and he’d thought that he would never be capable of loving someone. But guess what? You changed that. You are his lovely human and he is grateful that you are the one teaching him how to love. He might be a goofy silly man, but he respects the ones he loves and you are the first one he respects. Also, he’d be happy if you joined him to the Moondance! He’d have a dancing mate then, and if you wish to, he’d be there to sit on the bar and talk as you two drink something. 

He is physically incapable of getting drunk with human alcohol, as it is weak for him. If you wish to drink, he’d simply say that once in a while it doesn’t hurt, but moderately. He knows that humans can get addicted to alcohol, and he wants to avoid you getting into that loop of unhealthiness. Although it is your choice, he will take care of you whenever you get drunk.

You are invited to join him to party. He’ll stay close to you to make sure that you are alright and safe.

If you are the type of person who gets anxious about going to parties and simply does not like them, that’s valid. He will return back to bed quietly, when the sun is about to set. If he finds you awake, he will explain to you all the gossip he found out during the night. If you are sleeping, he’s gonna admire you for a few minutes until he finally gets to embrace you and sleep.

Expect him to share all of his gossip with you. He knows EVERYTHING about everyone somehow. Even about people he never interacted with. (Kinda hard because he is a social butterfly)

Shopping center dates! He is a good advisor when it comes to fashion, and he has a skill to pick the things that fit you the best. And of course he’d help you to find something comfortable for you. You’d be stunning for him anyway, but if it’s a little bit old fashioned, he’ll definitely tease you just as he teases Vladimir…

He’s the type of person that anytime you’re going to kiss his cheek, he tilts his head a little so it falls right on his lips.

When it comes to drinking your blood, he knows to control his instincts and hunger for it. He is a succubus so he can get the energy through intimacy or your blood. He was born being a vampire, so he has grown up knowing how much he can make his desires wait. He won’t drink of it until he truly feels weak, but he isn’t a weak man. His bites are kinda hurtful because his fangs are pretty sharp and long, and he generally uses his powers so you don’t have to feel much pain in case you are too sensitive. He will ask you if you want that though. The neck is the best spot for him -if not the thighs-

Pet names: Always will be calling you baby, and sometimes sweetheart.

VLADIMIR 

Little dates. He would be too embarrassed to confess that he is actually a soft man when he is around you, and he loves to enjoy quality time with you. So he’d like to invite you to romantic dinners with candles, only the two of you and a quiet environment as you enjoy each others’ presence. If you like writing, there will definitely be writing dates!

He’s pretty serviceable and formal. He would remove his jacket and give it to you to wear if you’re cold. If it’s raining, he’d hold open an umbrella for you. If you need more pillows to sleep, he’d gladly place them under your head. 

Even though during sleeping time his arm is gonna be your pillow, there is no discussion.

Flowers. This goes if you aren’t allergic to pollen… He’d give you some of the most precious flowers he has in his garden in a small bucket. He’d trust you so much to let you be near his flowers and take care of them, he’d even teach you how to do it properly with will and happiness about someone interested in his interests.

Letters. He is ashamed of saying cute stuff at first, so whenever you wake up alone in bed during the first months of the relationship, you’d find love letters on the nightstand. He writes how he feels into words so you’re always updated. He might be secretive with his speech, but he certainly loves you as he never loved anyone before. He uses certain words from his era which meanings behind them are more powerful than you may imagine. 

He’s prone to negative emotions which causes him to isolate himself for a long while until he feels better again. He doesn’t want to ask for it, but during that time he needs you the most. The authority he always carries on his shoulders completely disappears and he gets into a vulnerable and depressive mode. He may be hostile towards the other residents, but simply because he doesn’t want them to realize that he is actually someone sensitive (they know it tho). So the moment you get to his side as he is feeling like this, he’d press his head against your belly and stay there until his anxiety and negative thoughts disappear.

Caress his scalp, play with his hair… he has been for centuries without receiving genuine love. Ah, and do not expect less from him. He is truly romantic and clingy the moment you two are alone in bed. He likes hugs and even more to be able to hold you as you sleep.

And please, this man is absolutely stunning. He has delicate and pretty features, he looks like a prince. Any compliment you give him he’s gonna become a blushing mess, because he is that kind of handsome being who is unable to see his own beauty. He’d roll his eyes and tell you to not speak lies, since the only one whose beauty is comparable with a rose is yours. 

Deep inside he is truly happy that you have chosen him to offer him your heart. He will take care of it as he takes care of his flowers. 

He can be possessive over you though. But he is aware that it isn’t because of you doing anything wrong, it is just about his own insecurities which he will do his best to fix. But I’m sorry, everyone has flaws and his flaw is to be possessive…

Drinking blood is an intimate thing for him, so expect him to do it when you two are going to sleep. He generally likes to give little kisses to your neck and then bite deep down on it. He makes it slow but makes his hands to caress other spots of your body meanwhile, so you don’t have to mainly focus on the pain.

Pet names: When you are in public, do not expect him to say anything cute. He will simply call you by your name. But in private he’ll call you sweetheart, my beloved, my dearest with that elegant British accent (I may be simping a little rn) which spits royalty with each letter.

RAPHAEL

Quality of time. He doesn’t really mind how you both spend your time as long as he feels your presence around him. That means that there will be constant dates in the library in which both of you would be reading different books. He’d pick interest in listening to your comments or reactions to certain books, and as you gasp in surprise when the MC does something so unsettling, he’d be chuckling softly and asking you what’s wrong.

God he absolutely loves listening to your voice, your breathing, your laugh. There is something about your voice that makes all his problems disappear and his mind is at complete peace. He tilts his head towards the direction of your voice and pays attention to every single one of your words. He’s an active listener and as you talk he will make questions or add comments to show his genuine interest for you.

Words of affirmation. He is very talkative when it comes to his interests, but also expresses his love for you. You will hear him doing small oral poems to compliment the scent of your hair, or the softness of your skin, or the warmth of your touch. He is open about what he needs, and he normally lets you know that he needs your hugs to pull you into his lap for some cuddles.

Loving kisses. Those moments in which you get to sit on his lap, he gives soft and innocent kisses to your shoulders and nape, as he keeps his arms wrapped around your waist. Whenever he is around you he likes to give spontaneous kisses to you. Even when the others are around, he doesn’t mind giving subtle kisses to your hand. He is not secretive about his relationship, simply private. He won’t hide his affection in front of others but won't be clingy or needy.

Sleeping time. When it’s time to sleep, he truly adores being your small spoon. He genuinely searches for comfort and love with your touch. He has been through a lot in his life, and the only thing he wants is to have a stable period in his life. Feeling his back pressed against your chest as he sleeps makes him feel genuinely protected and it feels the happiness of his inner child.

Baths together! He actually will allow you to undress him in a sign of trust. More than once he’d wander his hands all through your body to imagine your shape in his mind. And damn, he adores doing so. He absolutely adores the confidence and intimacy he can get to have with you.

Raphael is truly a nice man who will make sure that you can learn to love yourself as the relationship lasts, because you are truly stunning!

His bites are always consented and you will even have to offer him because he kinda feels guilty of doing it. He actually likes to take it from your shoulder or neck, but of course, always knowing your opinion. If you offer any other place, he’ll accept. Luckily his bites aren’t as painful as the others’.

Pet names: He has no problem calling you sweet things in front of others. It’s not with the intention of letting others know that you are his partner, but simply because he is completely used to call you like that. He calls you hun, darling, sweetie… he actually uses a lot.

ETHAN

Touch starved. At the beginning of the relationship he found it hard to show his affection through his touch, but he craves to be touched. He might not start it, but he will give subtle signs that he desires to cuddle with you at the moment. Once he gets the knowledge that you like certain touches, he will give them to you. He adores when you cup his face and caress his jaw, you will have him melting at the moment.

His arm is always wrapped around your shoulders, no exception.

He’s bringing you to McDonald’s after going to Moondance, and if you wish, he will even bring you to eat them at some hidden place in the town he somehow knows. And yeah… Ethan is the typical dude who knows the weirdest places of the town and randomly offers to go explore them.

Ethan desires to love and to be loved. He loved a very few times in his life, and when he loves, he is intense and loyal. Beliath always teases him for being so cheesy, and even Ivan calls him simp… and yes he is.

Inside jokes. Ethan is pretty funny and has a dark sense of humor, and he will include you as a partner in crime to tease others. He will gossip about other people to you and whenever there is a reference made around you two which had been mentioned before, he looks at you with an unserious face and soon you two burst out laughing. Or sometimes he’d even say stuff only you would understand.

Vladimir has hit you both with the walking stick more than once to cease the laughing because he didn’t understand if you were laughing at him or what (and you indeed were).

You are his weak spot. He can’t say no to you. You don’t have to try too hard with begging, just as you ask for something, he is giving it to you.

He’d kill for you if you ever asked.

Gives you his jacket. At the minimum he sees you are cold, he is placing his jacket on you. He is a big guy and his jacket will be big to you, so he finds it adorable. And the way he stares at you is filled with love, admiring completely how good you look on it. 

He shares his food with you and that is enough to say that he loves you deeply.

When it comes to drinking your blood, he does it casually. His bites aren’t as hurtful as others as he knows the better places to handle the pain. He doesn’t like to use his powers on you to make it lighter or use some kind of medicine so it hurts less. He will fill you with kisses afterwards.

He has nightmares when he sleeps, and will cry your name during his sleep. He keeps having memories of the war he lived and there is a constant fear of losing the ones he cares about. If he lose you or Beliath, he’d be completely lost in this life. More than once he will wake up screaming, probably near a panic attack. Seeing you with him is definitely the most relieving thing for him.

Beliath is the couple therapist whenever you two need it. And he actually is almost a part of your relationship, not in terms of intimacy, but wherever you two go somewhere, he will ask “may I join??? :3333”

No one can change my mind that this dude has knowledge about how to ride a motorcycle, and he will take you on late night motorcycle rides. He loves it simply because he knows he’s gonna feel you gripping on his waist desperate as he increases the speed, laughing at you when you yell at him for it.

Pet names: He only uses “babe” and other pet names in Finnish mainly.

IVAN

Best friend and boyfriend. People will literally wonder if you are truly dating as the treatment isn’t really a clingy one. He literally hits your arm or nape (not painfully, dw) in joke, he mocks you whenever you pronounce a word incorrectly, he teases you at the minimum… He has the behavior of an annoying best friend. And thanks to being comfortable around you, he can perfectly do cringe stuff with no shame.

He is also very open minded and can switch his playful behavior to a serious one whenever you feel like talking deeply about something. If you need to rant or vent, he will listen, but don’t expect any good advice because he is the type to suggest that you punch someone or you even burn their house.

Gaming dates. Ivan managed to get his own phone, hiding it from Vladimir, because what the hell he wanted to have some freedom and fun… He is concerningly good at phone games. You two will be lying on his bed and playing together any random competitive game. As I said before, Ivan basically treats you with a lot of trust so whenever you win he yells and rolls in the bed as he complains. “Oh, fuck! What is this team? Why are they SO bad!?”. It’s funny to see his reactions as he suddenly might sigh and turn off his phone, turning around to sleep (to whine and complaing actually)

Of course he would never get mad at you for winning at any game! After he has cried about it for 20 minutes, he’d hug you and say “well, at least I am proud of being with someone so skilled.”

Whenever he wins he is also going to mock you about it for 20 minutes.

You two got forbidden from playing games when everyone else is sleeping because the volume of your voices got too loud for your own good -Vladimir scolded you two the next day-.

But this also means arcade dates!

Every time you call him any pet name, he needs like 5 minutes to collect his thoughts and know what to answer because his mind is simply thinking about how you called him.

You literally can not get rid of him. You go to the kitchen? He will go with you to get a glass of juice. You go to the couch? Cool, he goes with you. You wanna go outside? He’s gonna whine but he will go.

Do not remind him about the window incident or he is gonna cry and hug you to apologize about it.

Ivan is really insecure about his vampire condition and being able to hurt you. He tries to warn you whenever he starts to feel hungry so you go away, because he is truly afraid of biting you without your consent. His bites are hurtful since he bites with desperation and needs self control with his hunger and his own fangs. He is a young vampire and he can’t control when his fangs appear or to control himself too much.

He asks Aaron help to control himself.

But whenever he is completely conscious, he is gonna be completely gentle with you. And even if he is playful, there is no way he is harming you for real. If he ever did, he’d cry with you.

He dedicates tiktok meme videos to you (sometimes cheesy ones)

Matching!! Necklaces!!

He will give you an earphone so you both can hear music together. He definitely won’t have any problem with making a playlist with you, and even doing one with songs that reminds him of you.

Pet names: He calls you mon amour or ma chérie when he is feeling more romantic -and usually during intimacy- if not, he calls you anything ridiculous that’s related to your name or hun.

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[bots-and-cons]

Since requests say open

Can I get knockout and Shockwave with werewolf reader (not the transforms only on a full moon kind but the basically always able to transform, also not very scary just fluffy creature)

A/N: I basically went with the twilight type of werewolf (or at least what I remember of them), because that’s the only “fluffy, not very scary” one I can think of, also they’re biiiiiig. The reader is their partner/s/o so they’ve got a romantic relationship

~Shockwave~

•Shockwave is probably more interested in the whole werewolf thing on a biological/scientific level

•If you let him, he’d like to scan you, take blood samples, and other stuff like that

•He’s just interested in how the whole transformation thing works for you, because the mechanics of it seem way different than for his kind

•You sometimes sleep in the lab, just on some counter, in your wolf form

•Shockwave is aware that humans pet dogs, and the dogs enjoy it, so he’s wondering if the same would apply to you

•So one time you’re asleep, he starts giving you some scratches behind your ear

•You seem to quite enjoy it, and he’s absolutely enamored with how happy you seem to be when he pets you

•He doesn’t really do it often, because he doesn’t think it’s necessary or a thing you would need, but he does still think it’s nice 

•Shockwave thinks it’s odd that you don’t seem to match much of the lore he ends up reading about, because you’re very much a real thing

•You explain to him that most people don’t actually think werewolves are real and that most of the stuff online is just flat-out fanfiction

•Shockwave learns that he shouldn’t believe everything that’s on the internet

•Because he asks some very weird and uncomfortable questions based on his online research

•You’re just like “No, no no no, no no, no nope”

•Shockwave doesn’t really see you as a normal human, though you’re the only human he knows so he doesn’t really have a benchmark for a “normal human”

•He thinks of you as a werewolf, which you’re not offended by, because that’s what you are

~Knockout~

•The first time you transformed into a wolf in front of him, he was pretty freaked out

•In his (very loud) words “How the scrap did you turn into a dog?!”

•You walk up to him and bark at him playfully, and he thinks you’re the cutest thing ever

•Then he just basically starts baby-talking to you, because “puppy!”

•You of course can’t answer, because wolves can’t talk, even in the case of werewolves

•It’s honestly a bit weird, because if you showed a human this side of you, they would run away screaming, but Knockout’s reaction is “puppy” because you’re basically the size of a normal dog for him

•There’s a sort of “magic aspect” to this that your clothes become a part of you during the transformation, so you’re clothed when you turn back

•He of course has a ton of questions, main ones being “What?” and “How?”

•You’ve been werewolf since birth, but the traits only started presenting themselves when you were about 15

•You mostly find the “puppy” comment to be funny, but it ends up becoming a pet name that Knockout uses for you all the time

•It grows on you, but you weren’t that fond of the name at first

•You have to transform every once in a while, or you start getting this itchy kind of feeling and it starts driving your crazy

•You also just like running in the woods and feeling free so Knockout bridges you to places around the world where you can run

•Sometimes you like sleeping on Knockout’s chest or lap, and he likes to pet you, which you enjoy as well

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Big Brave Man

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |

CW: Creepy whumper, reluctant whumper, dehumanization, werewolf whump, hunting runaway whumpee

-

The last half-mile of the hike back home was always the worst part. The woods were at their thickest, which helped to hide the scattered buildings hidden down a dirt road from prying eyes, but it also meant it would be so easy to get lost, drift off the hidden path, and simply never be seen again. 

Austin had been taught the signs to watch for since he first learned how to walk, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little worried every single time that he’d miss just enough of them to end up miles off course. He’d been taught to hold on to that worry, that it was people who were cautious who made it home.

Still, he was so damn tired now.

His legs were shaking from exertion, from the miles and miles he’d spent the day walking, clambering, and climbing. Exhaustion had his eyelids feeling heavier with every blink, but Austin knew better than to think he could head off to his own small room to sleep off the last twenty four straight hours of trying to find that little shitstain Rusty. 

He wasn’t even grown - how had a juvenile been able to get away so fast? The blood trail had made it clear that he’d been hit by one of the silver bullets… how had he managed to keep running? 

He was going to be in such deep shit with Bill about this.

Distracted, Austin tripped over a tree root and swore when he nearly dropped his rifle, scrambling not to let it touch the ground. His father would have something to say about that, too. You never put down your gun, he knew that rule better than any other. 

Especially not on a full moon, when werewolves wouldn't hesitate. When they would bite and tear and claw and shred in mindless violence until their sadistic desires were satisfied. Werewolves were at their worst during the full moon.

It was the first thing Austin had learned in homeschooling, how to recognize werewolves even in human form, what to watch for, and when they were most dangerous.

Reading, writing, math, history... the rest all came once Austin knew what to be afraid of. And how to do the wolves harm before they could harm him.

Even if those warnings didn't really match the captive pack that Bill kept for his search for a cure. Even if the wolves in the kennels had never acted the way he'd been taught they should.

Bill had always claimed it was because captivity made them safer to be around, made their viciousness weaker. But... sometimes Austin wondered.

Last night had been a full moon, and Rusty had run through a camp and then found his way to a car with campers and Austin had found an empty parking spot marked with only Rusty's blood. No bodies. No bones. No vicious monster growling and snarling with red-tinged foam around his fangs.

The moon was supposed to turn them into killers.

So why hadn't Rusty killed the campers?

He was too tired to think about this.

Once he finally eased out of the woods into the first of the compound’s small cleared spaces, what hit hardest was the silence.

The moon had begun to rise, and normally the wolves would have been restless in their kennels, human and canine forms shifting back and forth in sickening ways, desperate to run out the energy that coiled through their wiry wasted muscles. He’d have heard the scraping of accidental brushes against the silver-lined fencing, the little whimpers from the younger ones, the older shushing them. He’d have heard the whispers as he walked past, the growls, the whining pleas to be allowed to hunt.

They want to hunt you, Bill had always told him. You're the prey. They play at sounding weak and scared, but they'd rip your throat out if we let them.

Still. He'd always searched for that mindless rage in their eyes, and Austin had never seen it.

Now there was nothing to see at all.

The kennels were emptied out and silent. Nothing moved in the shadows. There was no soft pattering of paws in the dirt, no yellowed eyes gleaming in the dark. 

Austin turned away before he could acknowledge the guilt that still tugged at him, a sickening pull at his insides. 

The kennels were silent, because all of the wolves were now on the other side of the barn, far enough away where hopefully the smell wouldn’t be too overpowering. The wolves were all in the pit they’d spent days digging, just to shoot the creatures they’d kept as long as Austin had been alive or longer.

That’s where the last of the gleaming yellow eyes had gone.

He wondered if any of their eyes were still open, under the dirt they'd piled on top of the bodies, and shivered. 

All his father’s hard work had faltered. There was only so much to learn, and every attempt at a cure had been fruitless. But at least, Austin thought, there wouldn’t be any more mournful howls in the darkness when they took the puppies from their mothers. At least he wouldn’t have to watch his father’s tests any longer, holding the creatures down in human or wolf form so blood could be drawn or bits cut off for Bill’s experiments. He wouldn't have to hear their screams of pain.

At least there was that.

Really, what they had done was a mercy, right? The werewolves had been miserable, and frightened, and now they were neither. It had been a mercy to give them death.

Keep telling yourself that, Austin. Whatever keeps the look on Rusty’s stupid wolf face when he dug out of the pit out of your mind, right?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Coward.

Not that he'd be sleeping any time soon, considering he still had to give his debrief to Bill, and he was starving hungry, too. Needed a shower. Needed to work out the nervous, jittery energy that still coiled underneath the fatigue that made each step drag a little more with every foot of distance he covered. 

Austin’s feet were barely moving by the time he made it to the house, fingers fumbling at the handle to the screen door, his boots scraping along the concrete steps. “Mom?” He called, voice heavy and husky. The moon hung full above him, and it felt absurdly like it was watching him - just one big white eyeball in the sky, all pissed off.

He cut off a half-hysterical giggle that threatened to erupt, like a volcano. God, he was so tired. He needed sleep so badly.

Wherever Rusty was, he was probably enjoying the moonlight. Gone rabid and torn out the campers' throats and rolled in their blood. Then again, maybe he’d bled out and died somewhere after he’d found those damn campers to treat him like a shelter dog.

That would make things easier, if they could just find the body.

But first they had to find the people he’d caught a ride with.

“Austin!” His mother appeared, looking as tired as he did, her hair a frizzy mess still drying from her nightly shower, already wearing her quilted flower-print robe over her nightdress. She moved to him, then wrinkled her nose and stopped, still a good couple feet away. “Oh, honey. You are absolutely filthy.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Running on pure muscle memory, he unloaded the rest of the silver bullets from the rifle, then set it into the empty spot on the racks mounted along the wall just inside the door. Next step was putting the bullets back in the special wooden box full of them, listening to the click as each one dropped back in. Minus the one he'd lodged, he thought, pretty deep in Rusty's leg.

Only then could he lean over to untie the laces to his boots. A new wave of exhaustion hit like a wall of bricks and he found himself listing to one side, knocking a shoulder into the wall. “Shit.”

“Language,” Sandra scolded automatically, without much feeling. Austin had hit adulthood years ago, and by now it was mostly just an instinct because of the younger kids. Not that any of them were still awake, not this late. “Did you find Rusty?”

Austin exhaled. 

Sandra read the answer in his face, and she sighed. “Oh, honey. Your father’s not going to like that.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know. Bill hates everything I do, though, so it shouldn’t be too different from any other day for me.” The first pulses of a headache threatened, his growing fatigue was rapidly becoming a heavy weight alongside the beat of his heart. He left his muddy boots on the mat and made his way to the fridge. He’d downed half the beer before he even thought to take a breath, rubbing a hand over the shadow of stubble that had already started to grow. “To answer your question, though… I actually did find him. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and more than a little disapproval. “What does that mean, ‘sort of’? Don’t tell me you let Rusty go.”

“I’m not stupid, Mom.” Austin let his forehead drop against the cool stainless steel of the fridge, closing his eyes. If he could just sleep, this would go so much better. If he had time to plan what he would say, to think it through. “I didn’t let him go.”

“Then-”

His father’s voice came booming from another room. “Sandra? Is that Austin come back?”

“Yes!” Austin’s mother took in a breath, and gave Austin a slight smile. “Just a minute and he’ll be right in there.” She patted Austin on the arm and walked past him, heading for Bill’s office. Austin followed, a little helplessly, the pit of dread in his stomach growing step by step.

He should’ve been moved out and married by now. Why was he still here, following his father’s orders? Why did he still get worried when his dad was disappointed in him? Why had he let his father tell him none of the girls from their meetups had been right for him?

Why hadn't he just gotten into a car and driven until he ran out of gas years ago, set up a new life wherever he found himself? He used to dream about it. Join a construction crew or something, where they could pay him under the table. Get an apartment with some roommates and learn how to take care of himself.

He used to dream about it.

Now, he thought, he'd just dream about dead wolves in the dark.

He took the beer with him, and he ignored Bill’s disapproving stare when he stepped into the doorway. It was his own beer, and just because his father had stopped drinking a few years ago thanks to some revelation about God’s will or other, didn’t mean that Austin thought the same way. 

So brave, a mocking inner voice whispered. Such a big brave man, defying your father about beer while killing a dozen werewolves on his orders.

Bill’s office was all wood paneling and dim lamps, giving it the feeling of some barely-explored cave covered in piles of paper - including seemingly every receipt for every purchase he'd ever made. Alongside the boxes of paper were old leatherbound books and the mounted heads of elk, deer, regular wolves, and more lining the walls. 

Bill sat in an overstuffed leather easy chair he kept in here - Austin was pretty sure half his time spent ‘working’ in his office was actually spent napping in that damn chair. The older man’s hair and beard had long since gone mostly gray, and unlike Sandra, he wasn’t ready for bed, not yet. He was still wearing his flannel and jeans. His right hand rested on the head of the placid, pathetic creature that sat obediently next to him. Koko, a half-grown wolf with mostly gray fur tinged at the edges with the same rust-red that made up most of Rusty’s coat, was always like that - drugged to complacency, his blue human's eyes dull and barely aware of anything around him. 

He'd come from the same litter of pups as Rusty had, Austin thought. Same mother. It was hard to remember who'd been born when, it was just the wolves, after all.

Vicious fuckers. 

Are they, Austin? Or are you the monster hiding under their bed?

In this moment, it was Bill's stare that seemed far more likely to be followed up by violence.

Bill’s expression shifted into a deep frown. “I can tell just looking at you that you didn’t take care of Rusty.”

The disappointment burned - it always did - but Austin shoved it to the side. He wasn’t a little kid any longer, and he was too damn old to still feel like a boy chided for not doing the dishes after dinner. “I followed him as long as I could,” He said, keeping his voice low. He leaned against the doorway, refusing to come any closer than that, taking another drink of beer. He watched his father’s narrow eyes follow the movement of the bottle. “But then he left.”

"He what." His father's voice dropped to a depth Austin had only rarely heard before. 

Austin's fingertips burned cold, suddenly, as if he'd plunged his hand into a bucket of ice and held it until frostbite took hold. An answering chill took up heavy space in his ribs, just behind his heart. 

This is the strong brave man your father built, that inner voice mocked again. You’re as tame as Koko, just how he wants it. Even his own kids are just kept in a different kind of kennel.

"He-" Austin's voice broke, and he stopped, clearing his throat as best he could. He tried to tell himself strength impressed his father far more than kissing ass ever had. “He left with some campers. He got in a car with them. I lost the trail."

"Some campers," Bill repeated, voice flat now, stuck just one step above a growl. "You couldn’t get a shot in? What was all that training for, then? Are you so useless you can't hit the broad side of a-"

"I did!" Austin met his father’s eyes - and saw how Bill sat up a little. Austin rarely refused to lower his gaze. He almost never argued back. Hell, now that he thought about it, this might be the first time. 

But he couldn’t get the memory of the whining, howling, crying wolves out of his mind. The way they sounded, the way they moved, writhing as they died, trying to clamber over or hide under the dead bodies of the others. 

Rusty’s eyes had been ringed all in white before he’d taken off into the woods. Mad with terror, wearing blood from his pack, fleeing into the wood with the evil hunter on his heels.

That’s you, Austin. You’re the bad guy in the fairy tale. You're the monster. Big brave man chasing a frightened teenager through the woods. They make true crime shows about bastards like you.

Austin cleared his throat. Rusty wasn't human, he told himself. It wasn't the same.

It was.

It wasn't.

It was-

"I definitely shot him, Dad. Silver bullet, blood everywhere. But they bundled him into their car before I could track him all the way and the trail ended at the parking lot."

"Goddamn typical," Bill muttered. As if Austin failing was exactly what he had expected. As if he never did anything else.

“Language,” Sandra chided automatically.

Austin flushed dark with shame and a guilty anger of his own. “Dad-”

"No, Austin.” Bill sighed. His hand began to move, petting absently over Koko’s head. The wolf didn’t seem to even notice. Those clouded blue eyes weren’t seeing anything but whatever was inside Koko’s empty little head. “Don’t bother. This really is absolutely typical. I should've sent your mother, you were always a poor shadow of her skills."

"Bill, be nice," Sandra cut in, nervous herself, but Austin felt warmth at the sight of her squaring up her rounded shoulders on his behalf. "Austin’s just tired. Considering everything he'd had to do before he had to take off after Rusty-"

"Woman-" Bill tensed, as if ready to push himself out of his recliner.

When Sandra turned on him, though, he fell back, looking up at her, vaguely startled. "Oh, don't you dare 'woman' at me, or my cast iron and I will have something to say," Sandra snapped back. She stood like she was made of iron, too, arms crossed in front of her. "When have I ever let you call me 'woman', Bill, huh?"

Bill was silent for a long moment before looking uncomfortably away from her. "Never."

"Damn straight."

“Language,” Austin teased, and was rewarded with his mother’s tired smile and his father’s irritated scowl. 

“Fine. Austin... worked hard last night.” It sounded like he was confessing to a sin, just admitting his oldest son had done anything right. Austin tried to take the compliment for what it was, but still resentment festered. He was the oldest of the twelve children, and he’d spent his whole life working to help his father build the compound into what it had become. 

And yet he was always the one who fell short of his father’s expectations - not because they were too high, but because of something inside of Austin his father had simply never liked. 

Maybe he's just mad that you're only a killer against your will.

“Still,” Bill continued, voice heavy. “Still, we lost one of our wolves.”

“But only one,” Austin countered. “The rest of them are handled, Dad. We made sure. Rusty was the only survivor. Well, except for Koko.”

Koko's ear twitched, once, and those hazy blue eyes focused briefly on Austin. Austin had a thought - just the slightest impression - that there was a fathomless loathing for him in those human eyes trapped inside a canine face. A hatred that ran so deep Austin couldn't see into its depths, could never begin to understand it.

Then Koko laid heavily down on the floor, resting his chin on his paws, looking like he'd drift off at any moment. The bulky prong-collar he wore clearly pinched a little, as he winced and shifted. The hate faded into cloudy nothing again.

Bill glanced down, the first time he'd looked at the young wolf so far. "Koko barely counts. He’s a good boy.”

Where Bill couldn’t quite see, Koko’s lip lifted on one side, briefly showing fang, before his eyes drifted shut. 

Austin opened his mouth to mention to Bill that Koko maybe wasn’t quite as docile as he seemed, but Bill spoke before he could. “And we can't start fresh if one of them's out there hurting people because of you.”

“Start fresh?” The cold dread returned, but for a totally different reason now. The kennels full of crying puppies taken from their mothers, the wolves pacing and shifting and howling and whining... He couldn't do that again. Not when the silence already weighed heavier than lead. “Dad��� you said this was it, that we were done.”

“Yeah, with this group. But they aren’t the only monsters out there. And we’ll figure out how to cure them eventually. I’m going to take in a new pack and start in on some new ideas I’ve had about silver particles in blood transfusions-”

“... Dad.. No.” Austin thought about having to fire on the wolves, one by one. Watching the light leave their eyes, watching their frantic fight to live. The years of his life he'd spent holding them down while his mother or father tested things on them, feeling their chests rise and fall in frantic terror while they were restrained into stillness. His stomach flipped. He had to fight bile that threatened to rise in his throat, tensing all his aching muscles to try and distract himself with the pain. “Dad, you can’t. I… I can’t do all that shit again.”

“Austin, language-”

“No, Mom! I-I’m done. I’m so… I’m so done. I can’t do this any longer.”

Bill sighed, shaking his head. But he didn’t burst out in rage, like Austin expected. It was so much worse - he just looked profoundly, deeply, painfully disappointed. “You let them get too close to you. Started seeing them as people and not what they are. I should’ve expected it. Your little brother can take over your duties, but not until we bring Rusty home or get rid of the threat.”

Austin closed his eyes. One last thing, and then he could stop having to be a part of this? That… sounded like his father throwing him a lifeline.

Big brave man doing what Daddy says because then he'll let you quit.

If he lets you quit.

He grabbed onto it with white knuckles and took a deep breath. “Fine. Okay. So, we got off track. I... I told you I tracked him to the parking lot by the trails.”

“Right.” Bill nodded, thoughtfully. “But you lost him after that."

“He clearly got into a car with some campers, probably the ones whose camp he ran through. In any case, I, uh, I called the park ranger, said we'd had some poachers on our land." Austin's voice was a little breathier than he meant it to be. 

Bill's eyebrows raised, and he gestured with one hand for Austin to keep talking. 

"He wouldn't show me the security camera, some kind of regulation, but… but he said he got a record of the license plate.”

“He gave that to you?”

“After I gave him a hundred dollars, he did. I wrote it down, so... so we can do something with that, right?"

"Did he tell you what state it was from?"

"He did. Iowa."

Bill's expression finally cracked into a rare smile. Even Sandra relaxed, and Austin felt his own aching muscles soothing, too. "Well. That we can work with. We’ll finish things with Rusty and call that your resignation from the family business. I'll give you some cash to get you started, after that. And you'll promise to call your mother once a week."

"Once a week at least," Sandra added. "I'd like a few times a week, really. Oh, and maybe you'll meet a nice girl-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Sandra," Bill said, but he'd softened, and Austin felt hope for the first time. He tried not to acknowledge it, afraid Bill would see the way his expression changed and feel the need to smash him back down again.

He cleared his throat. "I want to go live in a city somewhere.”

“Your mother and I fled that life for a reason, but I suppose every generation has to learn about the evils of cities all on their own.” Bill sighed, shaking his head. But Austin could tell this meeting was finally about to end. His bed waited, and Austin knew he'd barely make it upstairs to collapse into it.

Bill hummed. “Have a good night’s sleep, get yourself rested, and when you wake up you should pack your things for a trip. You and me are going to go track Rusty down before anyone else gets hurt."

Austin didn’t point out that the only ones who’d gotten hurt in this were the wolves. “Fine. Just the two of us?”

“You, me… and Koko.”

Koko's eyes opened again. They rested on Austin, briefly focused with an intensity that Austin had never seen in the young wolf's face before.

It occurred to Austin that maybe Rusty wasn't the wolf who wanted to rip his throat out the most.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[aspiring-house-husband]

A letter to his Majesty, the king

Good afternoon, highness. we hail you from the forest beyond your eastern border, the very same that you wish to conquer and expand into. You may have heard us, but never believed us anything more than a pack of average wolves, only a few strong and nothing that your forces couldn’t handle. 

You sent a hunting party to remove us and claim this land as your own, you may remember. Five strong men and women, lead by your handsome son, the prince. I worry for the safety of your kingdom, if these were your best soldiers. I mean no offense, highness, they were skilled. But not so skilled to be any match for us. 

Worry not, they are safe, and we have taken them off your hands. Five strong men and women with the bite of a werewolf clamped around their shoulder and their first transformation in the coming nights. they have found true purpose with us, and the wolf blood freshly running through their veins will help us expand our territory and protect our home. Their loyalty is no longer with you. 

Oh, and your son, the darling prince. Worry not, we have spared him the fate of the wolf. You will never see his handsome features contorted with wolf ish charm. No, we all decided he was much too sweet as he was. Your perfect prince is our pet, his soft skin gleaming in our fire lit dens as he curls up in our laps. He has an extraordinary talent for flexibility, I myself have taken him with his left foot on the floor and his right laid over my shoulder, and his hole clamping around my large, werewolf knot with ease. he’s impressive, and he continues to prove it. You’ve trained him well; his endurance is incredible.  He takes cock for hours and hours on end and even tied to a knot will still rock his hips and use every other part of his body to pleasure as many of his pack as possible. his mouth, highness, is far more precious than anything in your treasury. he has skill beyond anything we’ve ever seen. 

Do not dream of rescuing your kingsmen, nor your son, highness. Your soldiers have a higher purpose under the moonlight now, the forest is in their blood. they will never return to the hollow halls of a castle. and your prince will never again be satisfied without being bloated with wolf cock and bathed in wolf cum. Your prince belongs to us, highness. Any rescue party you send will only join our ranks under the moon and stuff him with their knots themselves. 

With honor and thanks for both the soldiers and the toy, 

The chief of werewolves and breeder of the prince

[wordsandrobots]

Huh. Actually -- since I'm stuff home sick and my brain refuses to shut up and let me sleep -- apropos of reblogging @superhelltubedotsys' post citing Barbatos Lupus Rex's status as a werewolf Gundam, I'm now thinking about the significance that has within Iron-Blooded Orphans (some spoilers follow).

Because Barbatos the demon has no association with wolves in the Ars Goetia. The nearest applicable part is "He giveth understanding of the singing of Birds, and of the Voices of other creatures, such as the barking of Dogs", which is fitting for Mikazuki and plays into the comparison between mobile armour Hashmal and a bird, but pointedly does not imply 'appears as a giant fuck-off wolf monster with a knife-tail'. That description would seem more appropriately applied to Amon, the immediately prior demon, number seven: "He appeareth like a Wolf with a Serpent’s tail, vomiting out of his mouth flames of fire . . ."

But of course, Gundam Barbatos' steady revision towards the Lupus Rex form is a drift away from its initial design. Exactly how much influence the Ars Goetia descriptions had on the Gundam project and how much they were just used as a naming convention is a little up in the air. Some do seem to be applicable (Zagan being a 'bull with gryphon wings', Flauros switching between the forms of a leopard and a man, etc.). Others . . . well, Bael is supposed to appear as either a toad, a cat, or a man, or all three at once, and while that has some applicability to McGillis' whole deal, it's not really a match for Gundam Bael's angelic form. Nor do the Gundam's abilities evoke demon!Bael's power to render someone invisible. However, I think we can safely conclude that, in-universe at least, the goetic demons are only pertinent to the Gundams' initial appearances and capabilities.

Barbatos' revisions throughout Season 1 are instead a gradual cannibalisation of various different sources of technology and weapons to get it back into fighting shape (Teiwaz technically restores it to its original appearance, but that doesn't last past the Dort arc; thereafter, we're back to bolting on any spare armour going). Barbatos Lupus then represents a significant step towards redefining it in line with the Chief's goal of creating an 'ultimate' version based on Mika's battle data, with Barbatos Lupus Rex being the end-point for that progression.

Put simply, Barbatos gradually becomes more and more tailored to Mikazuki, specifically. To digress for a moment, this forms a big part of my reasoning that Mika being able to use the katana properly at the climax of Season 1 represents the influence of Barbatos' original pilot; after this, he ditches that kind of weapon entirely. Even while fighting Hashmal, he reaches for the biggest club available (technically, a broad-sword, but so ridiculously huge nobody could call it a precision weapon). It's another interesting detail that Mika can't beat Ein in their final face-off by fighting like himself, which comes back around again as the back half of Season 2 kicks into gear.

Anyway, my point is this: being a werewolf is not inherently part of Barbatos' deal. Rather it represents Mikazuki's growing influence -- as you might thematically expect for a union with a character named after the moon (crescent moon, specifically, though I can't imagine the association wasn't intended given Tekkadan are wolf-coded in the text). And that's fascinating because as I've written about before, Barbatos and Mikazuki are the most blatant example of a devil's bargain in the show. The kid literally sells and arm and a leg (and an eye) for the power Barbatos can give him. And yet, the bestial aspects Barbatos takes on are rooted in Mika.

There's an echo of Gundam Wing's 'Gundams are a curse' refrain in IBO. These machines bring bad luck to everyone who pilots them, as a function of representing humanity subsumed by war. The inherent gamble of the Alaya-Vijnana, the overwhelming nature of the conflict they were built to end, the fact Gundams are never sufficient on their own to change the world -- it forms an unspoken counter-argument to McGillis' zealous faith in their status as symbols of transformation that is actually very in keeping with the demonological tradition from which they take their names. What they offer is costly and potentially damning, while also largely illusory when it comes to anything other than utter destruction. Indeed, Mikazuki is a living testament to how 'cursed' their pilots are.

It just happens that he was able to curse Barbatos back.

Because that's what Barbatos Lupus Rex is, isn't it? Put side by side with its original form, this is a clear degradation of a proud warrior into a savage beast. The same design elements persist, of course, yet by the end, it's near impossible to picture Barbatos as an elegant fighter making precision strikes with a honed sword. It has become a true berserker, tearing into its opponents with teeth and claws (well, claws and knife tail). As Tekkadan in general tend to, Mikazuki strips away the affectations of nobility and 'honourable' warfare in favour of brutal reality.

The detail of the Lupus Rex form merging parts of a mobile armour into a Gundam only heightens this. Weapons are weapons, whoever they serve and whatever guise they wear. Mikazuki is always honest about that. His awed response to Hashmal is of a piece with how easily he fits within Barbatos. He sees himself as equivalent to them -- has, in fact, constructed his entire identity around being so.

Thus, the lycanthropy he inflicts on Barbatos is of a kind that merely reveals the truth lurking under the skin. It was always an instrument of devastation. Now it looks the part.

[indigenous-character-tournament]

Indigenous Character Tournament

Round 1

The bracket was randomly generated with minor tweaking to balance it out since there are so many characters. Ties are allowed only when there is an exact 50/50 and in that case, the characters will move on as a team. Propaganda is allowed and encouraged! The polls of each bracket will last one week! Below are the match-ups in case it is hard to read the bracket! :)

Voting will start Monday, May 8th at 6:00 P.M. EST! The polls will be released in waves.

Bracket A

Eliza Maza (Gargoyles) vs Willie Jack (Reservation Dogs)

Sokka (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs Kamakiri (One Piece)

Joseph (Blood Quantum) vs Fuzzy Mac (Grace Beside Me)

John Redcorn (King of the Hill) vs Clinton Skye (FBI: Most Wanted)

Travis Manawa (Fear the Walking Dead) vs Jessica Keynes (Miraculous Ladybug)

Artemy Burakh (Pathologic) vs Nakamura Kotan (Yuusha Dan)

Delsin Rowe (Infamous: Second Son) vs Moana (Moana)

Pike Dexter (Big Eden) vs Naru (Predator)

Victor Joseph (Smoke Signals) vs Volo (Pokemon Legends: Arceus)

Prince Ashitaka (Princess Mononoke) vs Kurapika Kurta (Hunter x Hunter)

Naranpa (Black Sun) vs Kirikou (Kirikou and the Sorceress)

Fredzilla (Big Hero 6) vs Margaret Kohere (Apex Legends)

Wyper (One Piece) vs Jenna Begay (Echo Project)

Kronk (The Emperor's New Groove) vs Rock (Nanbaka)

Ka'kwet (Anne with an E) vs Akita (Ninjago)

Tanis (Letterkenny) vs Caitlin (Mohawk Girls)

Bracket B

Asirpa (Golden Kamuy) vs Asterix (Asterix the Gaul)

Little Strongheart (My Little Pony) vs Atticus O'Sullivan (The Iron Druid)

Makoa Gibraltar (Apex Legends) vs Joss (Blood Quantum)

Kenai (Brother Bear) vs Ratonhnhaké:ton (Assassin’s Creed III)

Miyax/Julie (Julie of the Wolves) vs Massai (Fortnite)

Anna (Mohawk Girls) vs Princess Maya (Maya and the Three)

Izel (Onyx Equinox) vs Mercy Thompson (Mercy Thompson)

Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption 2) vs Dr. Joshua "Strongbear" Sweet (Atlantis: The Lost Empire)

Lady Silence/Silna (The Terror) vs Dedue (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Koen West (Cleverman) vs Hau (Pokémon Sun and Moon)

Elora Danan Postoak (Reservation Dogs) vs Iduna (Frozen)

Zia (Mysterious Cities of Gold) vs Knuckles Thrash/Harley (Sleepless Domain)

Carlos Oliveira (Resident Evil series) vs Nainoa Flores (Sharks in the Time of Saviors)

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs Little Creek (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron)

Asta Twelvetrees (Resident Alien) vs Hototo (Appare-Ranman!)

Bracket C

Nate Kinski (Neighbours) vs Usui Horokeu/Horohoro (Shaman King)

Reki Kyan (SK8 the Infinity) vs Waruu West (Cleverman)

Mugen (Samurai Champloo) vs Sitka (Brother Bear)

Samantha Black Crow (American Gods) vs Sasappis (Ghosts CBS)

Nina Aroyo (A Snake Falls to Earth) vs Malakai Mitchell (Heartbreak High)

Echo Reverie (Friends at the Table) vs Nuna (Kisima Inŋitchuŋa)

Margu (Klaus) vs Raúl Cocolotl (Wendell & Wild)

Huā Chéng (Heaven Official's Blessing) vs Leilani (Indivisible)

Elatsoe Bride (Elatsoe) vs Tao (Mysterious Cities of Gold)

Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist) vs Jesse Cosay (Infinity Train)

Kalgara (One Piece) vs Molly Mabray (Molly of Denali)

Miko Kalani (Barbie) vs Tom Evans (Captain Canuck)

Nani Pelekai (Lilo & Stitch) vs Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb)

Thomas Builds-the-Fire (Smoke Signals) vs Fiza (Daevabad Trilogy)

Tikal the Echidna (Sonic the Hedgehog) vs Greiger (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Maya Lopez/Echo (Marvel comics) vs Bear Smallhill (Reservation Dogs)

Bracket D

Chakotay (Star Trek: Voyager) vs Piper McLean (Heroes of Olympus)

Emperor Kuzco (The Emperor's New Groove) vs Denahi (Brother Bear)

Ricky Baker (Hunt for the Wilderpeople) vs Kristoff (Frozen)

Serapio (Black Sun) vs Boy (Boy - 2010 film)

Inkarmat (Golden Kamuy) vs Geronimo Jr. (Cyborg 009)

Tanigaki Genjirō (Golden Kamuy) vs Betty (Infamous: Second Son)

Pacha (The Emperor's New Groove) vs JJ Jacobs (DImension 20)

Kaya'aton'my (American Girl) vs Danielle Moonstar/Mirage (Marvel comics)

Knuckles the Echidna (Sonic the Hedgehog) vs Sacagawea (Night at the Museum)

Débora (Cidade Invisível) vs Matthew Carver (Kagagi)

Papa-Capim (Turma da Mônica) vs Professor Kukui (Pokémon Sun and Moon)

Tainá (Tainá uma aventura na Amazônia) vs Nuna (Indivisible)

Ken Hotate (Parks and Recreation) vs Nizhoni (Race to the Sun)

Revali (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild) vs Daunis Fontaine (Firekeeper's Daughter)

Korra (The Legend of Korra) vs Ch'ah Toh Almehen/Namor the Submariner (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever)

Tye Longshadow (Young Justice) vs Lilo Pelekai (Lilo & Stitch)

[catierambles]

Blood Moon Ch.26

Of the many subsidiaries owned by Xerxes Holding Group, only one made sense as a front of the fighting pits. Persian Steelworks and Manufacturing. It was isolated, no one would question comings and goings, and it would have at least one furnace that could be used to dispose of bodies. Annalisa told Ethan to contact Shelley; she was a former doctor and Sy may need medical attention. Not to mention the other wolves they were sure to find. Sy was their primary concern, but seeing as Damascos was operating without her knowledge after she had shut him down once, she needed to remind him whose territory he was in.

Pete, Brian, and Jake wanted to go with them, insisted, but she convinced them to stay put until they got back. If things got violent, their human fragility would only put them at risk and she wouldn't be able to face Sy, or herself, if she got one of his brothers killed while rescuing him. Shelley would be meeting them at the plant and on their way out, Annalisa grabbed a somewhat ornate walking stick that was by the front door, adjusting her hold on it as they went out to her truck. Ethan gave it a look but didn't question it, getting behind the wheel.

They were silent as they drove out of the city, the buildings coming fewer and farther between before turning into farmland. The plant itself was situated on a couple acres and they drove up, several other cars, some of them luxury, already outside. Shelley was waiting for them by her own car and they joined her.

"Seems like tonight's entertainment already started." Shelley said, "A couple dozen spectators inside, along with a few guards with dart guns."

"Probably wolfsbane in case one of the wolves gets uppity." Ethan said.

"Any sign of Damascos?" Annalisa said but she shook her head. "He may profit from it, but bloodsport never was to his personal liking."

"You think he's not here?" Ethan asked as they approached the entrance.

"No, he's here, he's just not watching the matches himself." Annalisa said and they pushed inside. A guard immediately tried to stop them, holding a hand out.

"This is private--" His words died at the look she turned on him. "Ah hell."

"Warn him I'm here, and you'll suffer the same fate." Annalisa said.

"Y-yes, ma'am." He said.

"Where are they?"

"H-head to the back and down the service stairs. Bottom of the plant."

"Your radio." She said and she crushed it her fist after he handed it over. "Get out."

"Definitely not paying me enough." He muttered as he fled the way they came, leaving the plant. They moved through the plant, following the guards instructions, the sounds of shouting and cheering getting louder. No others tried to stop them, probably thinking they were late comers. Moving through the spectators, her stomach dropped as she looked down into the pit. It was Sy, his wolf massive compared to the one he was fighting, blood caked in his fur from gashes in his chest and arms. His opponent rushed him, but he grabbed him, throwing him aside and into the wall. Another wolf she hadn't seen came at him from behind and he roared as claws opened up his back. There was a ramp leading down off to one side, guarded by another in the same uniform as the one that stopped them and she went to it, Ethan and Shelley following behind.

"This is a restricted--shit." He said, moving aside at the look in her eye and she ran down it, tearing the chain link door from the hinges and running into the pit. He was on the dirt floor, being piled on by the other wolves and she went to them, grabbing them with a hand each by the ruff and throwing them aside. They snarled at her when they got to their feet, looking as if they were going to attack, but shrank away in fear as her mouth opened in an inhuman hiss, her fangs long.

A-Annie? She heard and turned her attention to him, helping him to his feet. He curled in on himself, the fur retreating and his body shrinking down. "Annie." He said, holding onto her and she caught him as he fell to his knees. She could see the full extent of his injuries now and knew that he most likely wouldn't have survived another night, more and more wolves being thrown at him until he was overwhelmed and overpowered. It was only then that the crushing silence hit her and she looked up, seeing the spectators watching them silently. "Baby."

"I have you." She said, holding him to her chest as they knelt in the dirt, "I have you. I found you."

"Eugene, he--"

"I know. I know what he's been doing."

"He killed Markus. He killed Markus, Annie. He gave the Hunter a way in your house. You weren't supposed'ta be there, he asked you to the opera that night, you weren't supposed'ta be there." Sy said, "Markus, he asked---"

"Asked me to stay home." Annalisa said and he nodded. "I wasn't supposed to be there."

"Baby, he killed Markus." Sy said.

"That doesn't matter right now." She said, "What matters is getting you home."

"Ah, Lady Caulfield." She heard and looked up at the voice, "You're looking radiant and elegant as ever." She held out her hand, and felt the smooth wood of the walking stick slide into her palm. "You really should have sent word ahead, I would have had him prepared for you. I didn't know you were a dog lover, or else I would have--" She twisted the ravens head topping the walking stick and pulled, turning and lashing out. The smug look was still on his face as his head hit the dirt, his body falling to the other side a moment later.

"Such is the punishment for disobedience." She said, looking down at the remains of Dario Damascos, flicking the blood from the sword and sliding it back into the walking stick. "Any objections?" Silence, "Sy, do you think you can shift?"

"I may have one more in me tonight." He said, his voice still pained.

"Shift, it'll kick start your healing, and then I want you to howl."

"Howl?" He asked..

"If you hadn't noticed, you're quite a bit larger than the others, both in height and weight."

"Noticed that, yeah."

"You're an Alpha wolf. Howl, call out to them, and they will answer." She heard the transformation behind her before she was cast in shadow, large clawed hands easing around her hips.

Mate. She heard in his, but not his, voice.

"Howl, Sy. Call to your pack." She said, putting her hands over his. An odd rumbling built in his chest before his head flung back, a piercing, haunting, melodic, howl leaving him to echo through the area. Answering howls were quickly given as well as the sound of wrenching and tearing metal. Again, he howled, Ethan curling in himself from the sound before he let the change take him over. It was chaos after that, the spectators attempting to flee as they were hunted down by the enraged wolves that had broken free. She didn’t try to stop them. Such was the punishment for disobedience. They knew what Damascos had been doing and were just as culpable as him.

When the spectators were all dead, dying, or had fled, the wolves shifted back, immediately being seen to by Shelley. They were all wounded in various degrees, some seriously, and they all carried scars old and new.

"It was supposed to be a job offer." One told her when she asked, "Some guy named Renaud offered me a position on security of some rave club. We drank to celebrate my hire, and I woke up here." The stories of the others was much the same. Job offers, at the clubs or one of the other businesses.

"Shelley," Annalisa said, "Do what you can here, then call one of the others and have them transported to my private hospital."

"You got it." She said, pulling off a pair of bloody examination gloves. "Want me to look over Sy?"

"M'good." He said, "Just need rest. Somethin'ta eat." The bleeding had long since stopped and Annalisa helped support him with his arm over her shoulders as they left the plant, Ethan staying with Shelley to oversee the transport. He climbed into the backseat to lay down as she got behind the wheel, pulling away and heading home.

[mylordshesacactus]

Suncrest Campaign Wrap-Up: The Duality Of Session Titles

Our player-notes document is a communal Google Doc, where everyone (including the beleaguered DM) can hop back to check details from earlier sessions--highly recommend this system, honestly. And, for ease of reference, every week after the session wraps up I go in and give the session a title, so that we can use the gdocs Table of Contents feature to easily jump between entries.

In general, I try to make these at least somewhat informative--I try to match the tone of the title to the overall tone of the session, and reference something that'll make it clear in six months what the hell I'm talking about.

So, in honor of the party reaching the campaign endgame: A final write-up of all our session titles over the course of the campaign.

A Long Time Ago In A Campaign Setting Far, Far Away (Level-1 Adventures & The Doppelganger Arc):

1: You Meet In A Tavern Fire 2: Patience Is A Virtue (in which the party got what was meant to be mid-campaign reveal information in session 2 due to excellent restraint and investigation, and also met long-term NPC Virtue Chirelli) 3: Secrets Of Shroudpost 4: Nightfall 5: Jumping At Shadows 6: Teamwork Makes The Dream Work

Both Parts Of The Name (Abandoned Temple Quest Arc)

7: Stories & Stoves (the party meets Arlette, who runs a magic-and-general-store called Staves & Stoves, and is given a quest) 8: Indiana Jones & The Temple Of Realistic Consequences 9: D&D A-Bridged 10: This Temple Is Weird (the party fights a water weird) 11: Big Fucking Dragon 12: Max and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Campaign, or: The Gang Gets Obscenely Rich

Night Hag Arc

13: Once More Into The Breach 14: #WWFD? (What Would Farrah Do--her player was absent that week) 15: The Power Of Friendship And These Tits I Found 16: GAH, Or: Wake Up There's Hags 17: Now With 33% Less Hag! 18: Hag-gling Over Loot 19: Good Thing We Didn't Leave Those NPC Guards Unsupervised

Werewolf Arc

20: Trouble In Thistledale 21: Family & Forestry 22: First Blood 23: There Wolves 24: Protectors 25: Assassin's Creed This Shit 26: The Silverlight Hounds 27: Overwhelming Force 28: New Moon 29: Firelight Festival

Election Fraud Arc

30: Political Theater 31: Landlords & Other Bloodthirsty Monstrosities 32: Hashtag Escapism 33: Of Mortgages & Murder 34: A Dish-tressing Discovery (a friendly NPC was almost murdered via sleep deprivation using a cursed goblet) 35: Jackoff And The Giant Beanstalk 36: The Key To Success

Requiem Arc

37: Directionality 38: Brought To You By The Letter 'N' 39: Long Rest 40: Please Do Not Bother The Violet Guard 41: Crimes 42: MASQUERAAAAAAAAADE 43: Everything Goes Completely Tits-Up 44: Breadcrumbs 45: A Suspiciously Well-Maintained Passageway 46: Foul Water 47: Several Discussions Of Traps 48: In Memoriam (the TREATY puzzle; the party learns everything about the day the world ended 50 years ago) 49: This Is Fine 50: Sax And Violince 51: You Have [36] New Messages

The Siege of Suncrest

52: Storm of Vengeance 53: Andromeda Gets Drugs From The Cops 54: Mindboggling (the party fights boggles) 55: The Siege Of Suncrest 56: What, Like It's Hard? (the party defeats what was meant to be a session-long boss fight in two rounds) 57: Breach 58: Your Stunned Silence Is Very Reassuring (death of a beloved NPC; the party was so stressed that nobody took a single note in the doc) 59: Tallyho 60: Release The Hounds

Faewild Arc

61: Crossover 62: The Tortoise And The Almost Perfect Aesop Reference (the party rides a dragon turtle and meets rabbitfolk) 63: Warren Of The Shining Wires 64: The Next Step 65: Perfect Time To Get Stoned (party fights a gorgon) 66: The Feathered Serpent 67: Plan C: Jo [the DM] Kills Us In Real Life 68: Frostfire 69: Wolves of Winter 70: Do It For The Vine

Endgame

71: [Preposition] The Hedge (the party begins infiltrating the Palace of Summer, which sits at the center of a giant hedge maze) 72: The Dread Gazebo 73: A Wolf A Goose A Cabbage And The Concept Of Summer Walk Into A Bar 74: Domination 75: In Which Nobody Touches Anything (the wizard, after spending the entire session of sneaking through several different trophy rooms frantically trying to keep the party from touching anything, pockets a legendary item off a display case without telling anyone) 76: The Hand Of Fate 77: Hold Fast 78: The Fall Of Summer 79: The Distant Light

[onbearfeet]

kat my dear if you are in fact taking requests i am placing the lost/stranded wedge from the wheel of torment at your virtual doorstep like a cat with a dead mouse

Oooo, a present!

(Disclaimer: please do not take literally anything I say in this story about the Sierra Nevadas OR wilderness survival to heart. I am a dumbass, and I received my extremely limited wilderness survival training from suburban fundies who literally didn't know which end of a match to light, so the only bits of it I bothered to keep were "don't stand where a giant pinecone might fall on your head", "mountain lions are not your friends", and "here's how to check for rattlesnakes". Any information about bears, however, may be taken as semi-reliable because ... bears.)

--

Jack had never woken up in a tree before. Apparently, there truly was a first time for everything.

The shivering was what actually woke him. He was shirtless, as usual for the morning after a full moon, but the cheap sweatpants he'd pulled on before locking himself in the evening before were still intact, notwithstanding a snag near the left knee and a few new stains he preferred not to examine too closely. So everything between his hips and his ankles was at least bearable, but everything else was numb or shaking violently.

A dull poking against his right side roused him before he could slide back into a restful coma. He looked down. The spar of a broken branch was jabbing him in the ribs, and his shivering against it wasn't doing him any favors.

Then he looked farther down.

"Chingada madre," he breathed.

He was at least fifty feet up. Far below, a light mist rolled through the pine forest, hiding the roots of his tree from view.

What could have happened last night? He hadn't thought the wolf could jump this high, and it had never shown much interest in climbing.

"What were you thinking?" he muttered to it as if it would listen. "There's no--no food up here, no female wolves. Did you watch a Tarzan movie at three in the morning or something?"

Jack had never been especially afraid of heights, but the sudden sight of a long drop jolted him with enough adrenaline to wake up fully. He gripped the limb beneath him with half-numb fingers, took deep breaths of chilly morning air, and tried to think.

The last thing he remembered was lying down on the floor of the little cabin he and Ted had built in the Sierra Nevada mountains. He'd completed his full-moon ritual just like always: doors and windows shut and bolted, long chains on his wrists and ankles, a stash of werewolf-friendly food already out of its wrappings and within reach, and a big pile of blankets and old clothes rich with his and Ted's scents. It was as close as he could get to a den without risking the lives of every human being for miles around. His other side was never happy with the arrangement, exactly, going by the gouges in the walls and floorboards, but at least he usually woke up indoors.

The wolf couldn't open locks. Couldn't REACH them, usually, with the chains on. Wasn't clever or dextrous enough to open the puzzle lock on the bear-proof chest containing the manacle keys, a change of clothes, and the means to make coffee.

He looked down at his wrists, then his ankles. There were no manacles left, no sign of broken cuffs, not even the usual raw skin or bruising that would fade by midday. He hadn't fought his bindings at all.

Someone had let him out.

Dios santo, someone had let him out.

There was no one around to hear him, so Jack took a moment for himself. Slowly, taking care not to dislodge himself, he pulled his knees up to his chest, put his head down, and sobbed.

He'd had centuries to learn not to hate himself when he cried, and sometimes weeping was all he could do, so he let himself shudder and keen and wallow in self-pity for a little while. God knew he tried not to hurt anyone. He never wanted to wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth again. But people--pinche hunters, well-meaning fools, it didn't matter--always seemed to find a way to make everything worse.

He had moved his safehouses farther and farther from human settlements. Begged Ted to watch over him whenever he could. Tried every kind of lock and cage and chain and drug and spell to keep himself contained.

And now he was lost in the woods, halfway up a--he sniffed--black pine, probably, with no idea where he was or who might be looking for him or whether they would try to cut his throat with a silver blade when they caught up to him.

And there wasn't even coffee.

After a while, his sobs died away, and he realized he was shivering more than crying. He'd have to get moving if he wanted to warm up.

But where to move to?

He craned his neck, trying to scan the surrounding terrain, but he was only halfway up the tree, and that meant his view was mostly canopy. He could see the land sloping gently down and away in front of him, and based on the angle of the shadows, that direction was probably west. (Assuming he hadn't slept the entire morning away in a tree, but he didn't want to think about that.)

Assuming he was still in the Sierras--which the black pine strongly suggested, and it wasn't like the beast could run all the way to another mountain range in one night--there would be a substantial snowpack at the peaks for at least part of the year, and the meltwater would run downhill. There might be a creek or a stream downslope. All he'd have to do was find it, follow it downstream to whatever larger waterway it joined, and keep following until he found a landmark or something to eat.

At least there would be water. Probably.

He was just beginning to think about how he was going to get out of the tree without breaking anything important when he heard the scratching noises.

He leaned forward and looked over the side of the limb that was holding him up.

There was a large black shape swarming up the trunk, all flashing claws and gleaming eyes, and he yelped in terror and it didn't seem to notice--it just kept coming--

And then it halted, about ten feet below, and made a noise like a locomotive venting steam, and the smell wafted up and flooded his nose.

"Mierda," he breathed, unable to take his eyes off the bear.

It was skinny for a black bear at this time of year, and something about the way its ears and paws looked too big for the rest of it told him he was looking at an adolescent. Probably in its first season away from its mother, looking to establish a territory of its own.

The usual procedure, from what he could remember, was to look as big and intimidating as possible--stand up, wave his arms, shout--and try to frighten the bear into retreating. There were, unfortunately, two problems with the usual procedure.

The first was that Jack was physically smaller than even a teenage black bear, and he was currently huddled in a ball, shivering and smelling like he'd just been crying. Not the best position for intimidation, he felt, even if he could stand up on his limb and shout, which he wasn't too keen on in any case.

The second was that the most common reason for black bears to climb trees in a hurry was to escape something on the ground that had frightened them.

If the bear was scarier than Jack and whatever was on the ground was scarier than the bear, then the transitive property of wilderness survival suggested that he didn't want to meet whatever was on the ground.

The bear huffed at him again.

"Don't you take that tone with me," Jack snapped through chattering teeth. "I was here first."

The bear groaned.

"Go around if you're in such a hurry!" he told it. "You're the one who's supposed to be so good at climbing!"

The bear opened its jaws wide and bawled, giving him a view of its gullet.

"I don't care what your pinche plan was!" Jack shouted back. "You think I chose this from a menu of delightful options?!"

"Jack?!"

He froze.

He knew that voice. It was the most beautiful and terrifying voice in the entire world. It was salvation and damnation tangled together and swathed in red leather and softly curling black hair.

It was also a voice that was supposed to be in Europe.

Jack leaned over the side of his limb. "Elsa?" he called.

The bear grumbled at him, but that was inconsequential compared to the sight of Elsa Bloodstone in her full hunting leathers, standing knee-deep in morning mist and staring up the trunk at him with a sheathed machete on her hip and an unreadable expression on her perfect face.

"Jack?" she called again. "Bloody hell, what are you doing up a tree?"

Jack made a few incoherent noises before he got his mouth to work again. "What are you doing in North America?!"

"Saving your sorry arse! Don't you remember?"

Jack flapped his hands to vaguely encompass everything--the tree, the bear, his state of semi-undress, the general condition of the universe. "Obviously not!"

He could hear her snort from fifty feet up. "Come down, idiot. I promise it's safe."

The bear huffed.

"You and I have very different definitions of safe," Jack grumbled, but he pushed his back against the tree and began sliding to his feet anyway.

The bear squalled a little, but didn't swipe or try to lunge.

He supposed he couldn't blame the bear for being out of sorts. The first time he'd encountered Elsa unexpectedly, he'd wanted to climb a tree, too.

The trunk was big enough for him to work his way around to the opposite side before he began descending. The bear took advantage of the break in traffic to surge past him with a steam-boiler huff and a scrabbling of claws, but at least that meant they were no longer in each other's way.

The climb down the tree introduced Jack to several deep gouges in the bark left by his other self on the way up, and also every muscle ache the cold had previously kept at bay. By the time he half-slid, half-fell the last ten feet to land in a heap in front of Elsa, he was hurting in places he didn't usually remember he had.

She pursed her lips at him in a strange way, unzipped her red leather jacket, and draped it around his shoulders. He was pretty well out of dignity by that point, so he didn't bother to suppress the grateful moan as he soaked up her warmth and scent. Oh, gods, that was better.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

"For you, anything," he grunted, and wobbled to his feet without loosening his grip on the jacket.

She made that unreadable face again, put a hand on his back, and guided him away from the tree.

For once, she set an easy pace, letting the rising morning sun warm them both as they strolled through the high forest. When Jack stopped in the occasional clearing to soak up a little extra solar energy, she didn't seem to notice, merely stopped beside him to sun herself, too.

It was ... strangely companionable, for Elsa.

"I got a ... vision, I suppose ... from Ted through the Nexus," she explained. "He'd seen a small group of hunters near your cabin. Apparently, he likes to keep an eye on you at full moons."

Jack smiled a little and looked down at his bare feet.

"Anyway, he couldn't leave his post for some reason, so he wanted me to look out for you. I owe him half a dozen favors at this point, so I couldn't exactly refuse, could I?"

Jack shook his head. Nobody could say no to Ted, not really.

"Two Nexus jumps later, I was at the cabin first. There were four of them on the way, and I wasn't sure I could take them all before one of them got to a certain sitting wolf." She bumped him with her shoulder, and he staggered. "Lucky you left the key in that puzzle box."

"Wait--you let him out?" Jack gaped at her. "How--are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

She smiled tightly. "Not a scratch, actually. Once I, er, got close enough, I think you remembered my scent. I told you to run, and you did."

His mouth was wide open, but he didn't care. "Let me just--wait--you gave the wolf an order? And he obeyed?"

"What, like it's hard?"

He continued staring, still open-mouthed.

"Anyway," she continued, "once you were gone, I didn't have to play defense, so I took care of things and then waited for daylight to track you down."

Took care of things, he was pretty sure, meant hid four corpses in the woods, but he was too cold and sore and grateful to press the matter.

"Do you have any idea why you decided to climb a tree?"

Jack shrugged. "The beast does what it does. You get used to it."

"Hm."

They walked in silence for a while. Finally, Jack said: "I think it was scared. I was scared."

Elsa shot him a sidelong glance, her eyes flicking over his face. "Well," she said finally. "Good to know one of you has some sense."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She put her nose in the air. "I'm absolutely terrifying. One of you should recognize it, at least."

Jack giggled as he stumbled over rocks and pine needles.

It was an hour's walk back to the cabin, where only a few suspicious stains in the surrounding dirt suggested the previous night's activities. The door stood open, and Jack hurried inside to throw open his trunk and wrap himself in a warm hoodie and fluffy wool socks. His feet stung as feeling returned, but at least he'd be warm while he hurt.

"I should be going," Elsa said from where she stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Ted says he'll keep an eye out for when you're packed and ready to leave."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be coming back here any time soon." Not for a generation at least, he thought sourly. Then he remembered he wasn't alone, and brightened. "Would you like to stay for coffee?" he asked Elsa. "There's a solar hot plate, or we could make a fire."

"Tempting," she said dryly. "But there's proper coffee waiting for me at home."

"Oh. Right. Of course."

Her expression softened. "It's good to see you in one piece, Jack," she said. "Take care of yourself."

"Oh, yes. I always do."

Her mouth twisted in that strange way again, and she started to say something before pressing her red lips firmly together. "Don't forget to wash up," she said instead. "You've got--stuff on your face."

"Yeah, probably," he agreed, turning away from her. He probably looked a fright, to be honest. Full moons always left him covered in God alone knew what, staggering around like a half-dead man. He was suddenly aware that Elsa had been looking at him in his probably filthy state for over an hour.

God, he was a disaster.

She left with a final, awkward farewell, and he set about cleaning up the cabin in preparation to seal it away for a few decades. He wouldn't be coming back until he was sure the scent was cold, and that meant disposing of an awful lot.

The sun was high by the time he was done, soaked in sweat and stinking of hard work and leftover pain. Time to clean up and call Ted.

Elsa had been right, he thought as he fetched a bucket of water from his rainwater cistern and hauled it into the cabin for a final wash. He could definitely feel something smeared on his face. It was a bit sticky. Perhaps the wolf had run into a tree that was leaking sap. Didn't smell like sap, though.

He stripped down, poured a little of the water into a basin for later, and then dipped a rag into the bucket and started scrubbing. A proper hot bath would have to wait until he got to Ted's, but he could at least try to make himself presentable. Bad enough that Elsa had seen him in such a state; he would hate to inflict it on Ted, too.

Poor Elsa, he reflected as he scrubbed. She really deserved better than having to deal with his more monstrous side all the time. Brave as she was, facing down an angry werewolf was still no one's idea of a fun Saturday night.

Now that he thought about it, he wondered how she'd gotten the wolf to obey her and run without putting up a fight. That wasn't like him at all.

Oh, well. She'd probably never tell him. Hunter trade secrets, most likely. Perhaps she'd used the Bloodstone on him. It was no less than he deserved. At least she'd kept herself safe.

He dumped the bucket out the door, shook himself a little to get dry, and walked naked to the jagged piece of mirror he'd nailed up on a wall to wash his face in the basin.

And stopped dead.

Well. He definitely had something on his face.

In the center of his forehead, squarely between his eyes, was a red smudge. Exactly the shade of Elsa's lipstick.

He grinned to himself and grabbed a clean rag to wipe it off on. And possibly keep it forever.

"Okay," he told the wolf as if it would listen. "I'd do whatever she said after that, too."

Maybe he was imagining the agreeing rumble from deep in his chest as he wiped the kiss print and folded the rag for safekeeping before grabbing a second rag to wash with.

Then again, maybe not.

There truly was a first time for everything.

[barbwritesstuff]

Sunday Smooches

It's Sunday, and I'm feeling a bit bored, so I thought I'd create drama a little light hearted competition.

Which Blood Moon RO has the best kiss scene?

You decide.

Disclaimer: Some of these kisses may play out differently in certain playthroughs. For example, if Marco is uncertain about the protagonists feelings, he will ask before going in for the kiss. And, if Vicky thinks there is any chance the protagonist is being possessed by a malevolent spirit, she'll require four point verification before snogging can commence. Also, these aren't the only kisses these characters have. I just tried to pick the most iconic ones.

Shawnie

Your lips meet hers… and it's like a lit match thrown into a petrol container. Instant, overpowering, and so fucking hot you're pretty sure your skin should be melting off your bones. Her lips are soft and sweet, but move against yours with the skill of a master, sucking, pressing, devouring. You devour her right back, groaning as her hands reach up to tangle in your hair, pulling you in deeper, harder, firmer. It's amazing. It's incredible. It's more than you ever imagined a kiss could be… A wolf whistle. A couple of cheers. A loud, lewd comment. …and as quickly as the kiss began, it's over. Shawnie pulls back, cheeks noticeably pinker than they'd been a moment before, eyes shining and arms resting on your shoulders. "Wow," she whispers. Around you the other wolves are smiling, and winking. A few even raise their beers in salute.

Vicky

She kisses you. And it's… it's nothing like you'd thought it would be. It's not hard, or hot, or deep. It's tender, slow, and unspeakably, almost unbearably, soft. You shiver as her lips move, brushing against yours, so gentle and warm it thaws something in your chest, something you didn't even realise was frozen. You close your eyes and respond with the same softness, the same tenderness, the same gentle care. Her hands are cupping your face now, her thumb strokes the skin of your cheek. You bring your own hands up to mirror hers and pull her in closer, letting her scent — familiar and beautiful like earth after the rain — engulf you. It occurs to you as the kiss slowly deepens, that this may be the best kiss of your life. Objectively, there is no reason that it should be. There is nothing artful or romantic about it. You're lying on an exercise mat in the back room of Jim's Gym, sweaty and bruised. But, somehow, despite that, you're trembling at the sheer impossible beauty of it.

Sergi

It's a wild impulse, but you let it take you. You step closer, put your hands on his shoulders, and pull him forward, pressing your lips against his. He tenses, and in that instant you start to panic. Fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck were you thinking? This is a spectacularly stupid idea. A truly momentous cock up. He's the walking, talking, text book definition of PTSD. What in the world would make you think sudden, unexpected touches were— But then he wraps his arm around you and kisses you back... hard. bitebitebitebitebitebitebite It's an ugly kiss. Rough, open, and angry. Your claws are out. His are too. They pinch into your skin. You growl. He growls back and crushes you against him. Your heart is hammering. Your head is spinning. You open your mouth, push against him harder, and— He gasps and staggers back.

Roe

To hell with talking. To hell with sitting across from the most beautiful person you've ever seen and pretending it's not doing things to you. To hell with all of this. You stand, walk across the room, and grab Roe by their wrist. You pull them up... and they pull you close. The kiss is sudden and suffocating. But you don't care. You don't need to breathe right now. You don't need to eat, sleep, or even think. All you need is that long, lean body pressed against yours. All you need is to feel the feather soft touch of their hair on your neck. All you need is Roe. You didn't realise how much you needed them until this moment. But you do, with every beat of your heart. Roe holds you like you're a raft in a rushing river. You grip them just as tightly. "You know we're doomed, right?" Roe whispers between kisses. "Alpha and Alpha… this can never work." "I don't care," you say back. "I don't fucking care. I don't want to think anymore I just want to—" Roe reconnects your lips.

Farro

The second you're in your room that gentleness vanishes. He pushes you into the wall, seizes your jaw, and tips your face up. You gasp as he leans forward and kisses, not your lips, but your neck, right where it joins shoulder. His beard scratches against your skin. His teeth are sharper than they should be, his scent thick, warm, and wolfish. Well holy fucking shit. Okay. It looks like all brakes are off. You can't say you mind."F-Farro," you manage. "The door." He reaches out and slams it closed, plunging you two into near total darkness. The only light spilling into the room is sunlight, trickling in through gaps in the boards over your window. It's barely enough to see anything. But that's okay. You don't need to see. All you need to do is feel that huge powerful body, pressed against you, hard, hot, and hungry. You reach out, tangle a hand in his thick curls of hair, and drag him forward as if for a kiss. But, instead of connecting your lips to his, you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. He jerks back with a growl so deep you feel it reverberating through the air.

Marco

Marco crushes his lips to yours. It's hard, hot, and everything you imagined kissing Marco would be. You feel his arms rise up to wrap around you. You wrap your arms around him in turn, tilt your head and… oh. Oh. So... as it turns out... Marco actually is a really good kisser. Like, insanely good. Though, objectively, you're not sure why that's the case. He's not doing anything new or different from anyone else you've kissed. But somehow, the intensity, the focus, the way he's holding you... all of it magically adds up to this maybe being the best kiss of your life. The scrap of stubble. The press of his body. The hot, familiar smell of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper coffee. Marco. You're kissing Marco. You feel strangely giddy. You want to sing, dance... but mostly you just want to keep kissing him. You want to kiss him until the sun rises. You want to kiss him long after that.

Ed

"Is this okay?" you ask. "So okay," he whispers. You tilt your head and gently press your lips against his. He's warm, and the scent of him is familiar and comforting, like sun warmed earth under your feet, or the undefinable, but unmistakable peace you can only find sitting by a campfire. A hand touches your cheek, running a thumb gently along your cheekbone. You follow suit, reaching up to trace the lines in his face as the kiss deepens. Your lips part, your tongues skate against each other, your bodies move closer together. It's beautiful. Not perfect. Not close. It's messy, awkward, and full of false starts and unsure hands... but somehow all the more wonderful for it. In that moment, you feel like you could kiss him for hours, for days, for the rest of your life, until you're both old and grey, and not regret a moment of it.

Carrie

She stops, sucks at her teeth, and looks down. "Well. I guess I just answered it. I snapped at you. I'm crazy. I'm—" "Yes. You are crazy. You're a werewolf. The moon is almost full. We're all crazy right now." She considers that for a while then turns to you. "Okay... okay then... let me do something crazy." Before you can react she reaches out, grabs your face in her hands, and pulls you forward. The kiss isn't like you'd expect of a first kiss. It's not elegant or beautiful. It's not even shy, or hesitant. It's hard, angry, and filled with a raw urgency you can't name. You feel her claws against your skin, and the hint of sharpened teeth behind her lips. But it doesn't matter. You wrap your arms around her shoulders, yank her close, and kiss her back, harder, hungrier, deeper. You're dizzy. You know she is too. She's gripping you like you're the only thing stopping her from spinning out. You grip her back just as hard and devour her mouth. You can't help it. It's the moon. It's the wolf inside. It's Carrie. Fierce. Wild. Imperfect. Carrie.

I've scheduled this post to be automatically reblogged in one week. We shall see the results next Sunday.

[ramblingsofamadblob]

Multiverse AU Woolfbloods:

Species summary: a race of people with wolf blood in their veins that allows them to do things like transform into wolves. They are split into two main groups. One group chooses to live in the wild, while the other group chooses to live amongst humans. They are often mistaken for werewolves.

Population: scarce

bloodline: mixed

Universe: Wolfblood

Power description:

Shapeshifting: they have the ability to turn into wolves at will, but they can wolf out accidentally when they get too emotional, especially if they are angry. They are forced to become a wolf on full moons. When they wolf out their eyes turn yellow first, and then their veins become visible specifically around their face and arms. Then it will progress from there, growing fangs and claws before they turn completely into a wolf which just looks like a normal Wolf. Their fur color is either gray or matches their hair.

New moons: they feel sick and tired on new moons AkA dark moons, also most of their powers do not work, and there is no trace of wolf blood in their blood if it’s tested.

Enhanced healing

Wolf like senses and physical enhancements

Eolas: when close to nature, Woolfbloods have the ability to connect to said nature and see whatever they want no matter where the thing or person is. It acts as a form of natural tracker. However, if not careful, this power can drive them crazy and getting close to technology while using it gives them very painful migraines.

Ansin: some wild Woolfbloods have the capability to see the past of the object or person they are touching. It can happen involuntarily, if they are in a place with strong emotions, tied to its history. This power can make Wolfbloods emotionally distressed or depressed, depending on what they see as they often feel the emotions they are experiencing. Their eyes turn to wolf eyes when they do this.

Lunar Eclipses: lunar eclipses make them act drunk, and they are in a weird half human half wolf state until the eclipse passes.

Dark of the Rune: a commet that passes during a new moon causes them to go into a coma and possibly die if not awoken by a specific frequency that only they can hear.

Firewalker: most Woolfbloods are afraid of fire, so surviving a fire is a great honor. Wolves who that do are called fire walkers or a’cerddwyr tan’ in the ancient Wolfblood language and are held in high regard

Wolfsbane: Woolfbloods hate the smell and taste of wolfsbane. If consumed it makes their wolf go crazy and their eyes remain stuck as Wolf eyes. It can be cured by consuming thistle root.

Molted poppy: there is a species of white poppy that’s pedals get covered in red spots when a wolfblood is near. Werewolf hunters sometimes use this to help them find wolves.

Morwal: If a Wolf has experienced a traumatic event, they may become possessed by the morwal as an involuntary trauma response. This is basically an evil wolf spirit that takes possession of their wolf and causes them to act uncharacteristically on full moons, as well as make their wolf form on full moons, aggressive and violent, possibly even prone to killing humans.

Wolfing Out:

Wolf Form:

[aylen-san]

The Last Battle Under the Stars

It began so suddenly that it seemed the forest itself had risen up against its inhabitants. The silence that had enveloped the area only moments before was suddenly shattered by terrible sounds - hoarse screams, fierce growls, and the sound of breaking branches. The air was filled with the pungent stench of rotting leaves. Alarmed, Maglor rushed in the direction of the noise. His heart pounded with adrenaline and his mind raced, trying to tell him what might have happened. He picked his way through the dense foliage, clinging to branches and roots that seemed to hold him back, preventing him from reaching the scene of the tragedy. Every step was difficult, the ground beneath his feet slippery from the rain, and the fog thickening, hiding even the nearest trees from his view. In the distance, through the thick gray veil, bright flames began to appear. The horrible sounds continued, growing louder and louder, as if the forest itself was screaming in pain.

When he finally jumped out into the clearing, a terrifying sight appeared before his eyes. It was as if the forest itself trembled with the presence of evil, the shadows growing thicker around the unfolding battle. Finwë, young and determined, stood in the center of the clearing. Around him, like wolves circling prey, a ring of fierce creatures closed in. Their bloodshot eyes blazed with malice and hatred, and their bodies, distorted by dark magic, resembled something between monstrous beasts and nightmarish creatures of the dark. Their hideous forms writhing, their ravenous claws scraping the ground, their jaws open in anticipation of blood.

Finwë fought bravely as the future true leader of his people. The Maglor, however, froze for a moment, realizing at once that the odds were not in their favor. These creatures were no ordinary foes - they moved with diabolical agility, their skin seemingly invulnerable. Each swing of Finwë's arm was full of fury and power, but the enemies did not retreat, only intensified their attack, their fury growing like an unstoppable storm. The smell of blood and iron filled the air, and Maglor's lips were frozen with the words of a chant he had not had time to utter as he watched the unequal battle unfold before his eyes.

After a moment, Maglor came to his senses and rushed to his aid in anger and despair, his cry, full of the excitement of battle and ancient strength, echoing through the forest and mingling with the cries of Finwë, who continued to fight despite his fear and terror, his face a mixture of determination and rage. The forest seemed to respond to the call - the trees swayed, the wind picked up, as if nature itself were answering the call of the elven warrior. They stood side by side, like great warriors on a battlefield, their swords glittering in the flickering light of moon and flame, each blow imbued with strength and desperation.

But the reality was different. Young Finwë, though he stood firm and his blows were swift and honed, could not match the experience and skill of his grandson. Maglor, who had been through centuries of pain and battle, knew his enemies' every weakness, anticipated their every move, his blows were deadly and precise; while Finwë fought with all his courage, he was only a young elf, not yet acquiring the wisdom and determination that would make him a great king. Maglor realized that this grandfather was not yet the majestic leader who would one day challenge Melkor himself and lead his people through darkness and pain.

Before him stood a young elf, full of ambition but unprepared for such horrors. Finwë's eyes reflected confusion despite his courage, he fought with all his might, but his movements were a little stiff, every blow seemed to lack confidence. Maglor felt his heart clench with pain as he saw himself in Finwë's eyes, the man he had once been, before all the pain and loss. He knew he had to protect him at all costs, to keep this light creature from perishing in the clutches of the vile monsters whose malice and hatred of elves knew no bounds.

The sounds of steel, screams of pain and rage mingled in a deafening hum, the melody of a mad dance of death. Each stroke of Maglor's sword was accompanied by a flash of light that seemed to lift the darkness itself for a moment. His blade sliced through the air with terrifying force, spilling dark blood onto the drenched ground. He fought with a desperate fury, as if fire itself burned in his veins, not letting him stop for a second.

But suddenly, as he fought off another enemy, Maglor felt an icy terror seize his heart. His attention, absorbed in the battle, was momentarily diverted from Finwë, who was fighting the creatures a little farther away. At that moment, one of the dark creatures, huge and shabby, remotely resembling a withered wolf, but with monstrous fangs and fury in its eyes, lunged at the young elf. Maglor barely had time to register the movement before the creature struck with inhuman strength and speed.

In an instant, the wolf lunged forward, its mouth open to reveal fearsome fangs. Time seemed to slow, and Maglor, realizing with horror that he could not prevent the attack, saw the beast's fangs sink into Finwë's body, tearing at the flesh. A scream of pain ripped from his throat, echoing in the heart of Maglor, who, forgetting everything else, rushed to his grandfather. But it was too late: Finwë's body lay crumpled on the ground, blood staining the ground, soaking into the moss and leaves. The dark wolf growled with hate, ready to sink his fangs in once more, but now Maglor, wracked with pain and despair, was about to retaliate.

With a roar that shook the forest, Maglor lunged at the monster and slashed at it with lightning speed. His blade, stained with the blood of his enemies, pierced the monster's chest with such force that a terrible crunching of bones could be heard. The beast roared, shuddered, and collapsed to the ground in agony, writhing in its final convulsions, but it made no difference. The terrible victory brought no relief. Maglor could barely taste the blood on his lips, the blood of his enemy now mingling with the tears streaming down his face.

Turning, his heart sank. Finwë lay on the ground, his face, once full of life and courage, now pale, as if stripped of all color. His eyes were half-closed, and his breathing grew fainter with each breath until it was barely audible. Maglor, unable to believe his eyes, knelt beside his grandfather, his hands trembling as he carefully lifted Finwë's head, trying to peer into his clouded gaze.

Blood, dark and thick, flowed mercilessly from the deep wound in Finwë's side, flooding the grass and earth around him, mixing with the dirt and dust. Maglor felt his heart being torn apart, each drop of blood like a hammer blow to his senses. He tried to stop the bleeding by pressing his hands against the wound, but the blood continued to seep through his fingers, hot and sticky, burning his skin and tearing him from the inside out.

There was a dead silence all around, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, watching this tragic moment. The ominous shadows that had just seethed with the fury of battle now trembled, fading into the dim light of the distant stars. Maglor whispered words of comfort, his voice trembling, but there was no hope or salvation in them. He watched the light in Finwë's eyes slowly fade, like a candle flame in the wind, and nothing could bring him back.

Maglor knelt before his dying grandfather, shivering desperately as if he himself were at the end of his strength. The cold, bone-chilling wind seemed like an ominous whisper, repeating the inescapable truth that the end was near. His hands, usually so sure and strong, trembled now as he tried to hold onto Finwë, as if clutching at the last vestiges of life that were slipping through his fingers like sand in a clock.

Kanafinwe leaned closer, almost touching his lips to his grandfather's forehead in a last attempt to transfer his strength and warmth. But Maglor's heart clenched in pain as he realized that life was already slipping away, going where there was no return. His whispers were soft and desperate, words of prayer or farewell mixed with sobs as he tried, by some miracle, to hold his breath in Finwë's chest, to do the impossible.

Maglor's thoughts raced as he imagined what his adopted son Elrond, a master healer, might have been able to do. Elrond, with his deep knowledge and wisdom accumulated over the centuries, always found a way when there seemed to be no hope. His skilled hands and keen mind might have offered at least a fleeting chance of salvation. But now, in this field of death and darkness, drenched in blood and shrouded in ominous shadows, nothing could bring life back.

The surrounding world shrank, as if the universe had shrunk to this tragic moment. The screams and sounds of battle now seemed like a distant echo, irrelevant. All that remained was the thin thread of life, slowly fading in Maglor's hands. He knew that nothing could prevent the inevitable, and this knowledge made his heart break even more.

Kanafinwe leaned over his dying grandfather in despair, feeling his heart clench with unbearable pain. He had never possessed any special healing skills, and now his soul was torn by the helplessness he felt with his entire being. But even his humble knowledge was enough to know that the wound was fatal. Maglor knew that no power could stop this slow loss of life. Maglor felt his own heart being torn. The realization that he was losing another loved one, another link to a past already filled with pain and loss, was unbearable. He realized there was nothing he could do to help, and that was agonizing.

All he could do was to be there in his last moments, to be a support for Finwë, to give him at least a little warmth and encouragement as the life drained from his body. Maglor held his hand tightly, feeling the bond weaken as despair mixed with rage flared in his soul. He could only whisper words of comfort and farewell, knowing it was not enough, knowing that another tragedy, another loss would be added to his already heavy burden.

That moment was a brand on his heart, another scar on a soul already scarred by centuries of pain and suffering. Maglor felt his inner world crumble like a sandcastle under the pressure of a tidal wave, and nothing could stop this catastrophic process. He felt infinitely lonely at that moment, even though the elf who had once been the embodiment of all that was good and bright was beside him.

- No, Finwë, don't go, please, - Maglor whispered, feeling his heart break with grief, the tears stinging his eyes like fire. His voice trembled, and the words sounded like a plea, not only to Finwë, but to the whole world, to the powers that seemed to have abandoned them at that moment. He repeated the words over and over, trying to keep his grandfather on the edge of life, if only for a moment longer. - I'm sorry. I didn't have time... couldn't save you.

The wind rustled across the clearing, its cold breath making the leaves of the trees whisper soft words of farewell. The whole forest must have fallen into mourning, responding to Maglor's grief, and even the sky above them darkened, reflecting the shadow of this loss.

Finwë, breathing heavily, tried to smile, but his face reflected all the pain he felt. His eyes, full of suffering, looked at Maglor, but there was no reproach in them. Forgiveness glowed in those eyes, like a quiet flame that warms the soul, and Maglor knew that his grandfather had already forgiven him, despite all the unspoken words and missed opportunities.

Finwë struggled to raise her hand, a gesture that seemed simple, but was given to him with the greatest of effort. His fingers, trembling with weakness, touched Maglor's cheek, and the touch was as gentle as it had been when he was a child and Finwë had told him stories of the old days. Maglor closed his eyes, absorbing this last expression of love and understanding that he would never feel again.

- It will be all right, - Finwë whispered, his voice barely audible, but the words contained all his remaining strength. He tried to put everything he had into them, to comfort his grandson, to give him one last push forward despite the grief and the weight of loss. - You must go on. For all of us. It's not your fault... I'm proud of you, my grandson. Be strong....

Finwë's eyes closed and his arm fell lifelessly to the ground like a broken branch. Wracked with pain, the Maglor felt his heart ripped from his chest. That moment, that instant, seemed to last forever. The silence that came after the terrible battle deafened him with its coldness and emptiness. He realized that he had lost not only his grandfather, but also a symbol of hope, support, and strength for all the Noldor. Finwë was the one who had always led them forward, who had been willing to defy fate itself. And now he was gone.

Maglor was left alone, surrounded by the darkness and silence of the forest, which he now saw as hostile and strange. He knew that this day would forever be etched in his memory, a wound that would never heal. A wave of pain and sorrow rose within him that would never end. He would never forget that day, that moment when his world had finally crumbled.

Tears continued to flow down Maglor's face, dripping to the ground like raindrops, soaking into the earth soaked with his grandfather's blood. He clasped Finwë's hand, which had already begun to cool, and felt the world around him crumble as everything he had ever known and loved faded into nothingness. His chest tightened with a pain that had no outlet, like a black stone on his soul, stealing his breath and his strength.

Left with nothing but misery and desolation, Maglor looked around him absentmindedly, as if trying to find something to give him a sense of reality. But the sight before his eyes only added to his misery. The tortured bodies of the dark creatures he had killed in a blind rage lay on the ground in unnatural poses. Their vicious, twisted faces, frozen in agony, gazed into the void, a reminder that even the most hideous creatures feel pain before they die.

Blood, dark and thick, covered the ground, mixing with dirt and torn leaves to create an eerie image of destruction. From this mixture rose a heavy stench, a coppery tang that tickled his nostrils unpleasantly and added to the sense of hopelessness. The smoke from the torches that had flared up in the battle was still in the air, adding an acrid, bitter taste to the general atmosphere of horror.

Every branch, every root, everything around him breathed this new, strange, and cruel world in which Maglor was alone. This forest no longer seemed like a refuge to him. It was now the place where his new loneliness was born, the place where the darkness he had always tried to drive away had taken over.

What now? The thought echoed in Maglor's mind like a curse from which there was no escape. For the first time in centuries, he felt utterly lost, unable to see a way forward. Had his actions changed the course of Arda's history forever? This terrible thought penetrated him like a cold blade, leaving only pain and fear of the unknown. He wondered what the world would be like without Finwë, without his wise guidance and the hope he had instilled in the hearts of the Noldor. What would it be like without his sons and grandsons?

Maglor felt the unbearable weight of this responsibility resting on him like a mountain, ready to crumble at any moment. Why was he, Maglor, still here, in this monstrous place, when the likes of Finwë had left this world? He could find no answer to this question, and it made him feel a sense of injustice and despair.

Thoughts swirled in his head like wild birds in a confined space, unable to find a way out. They tangled and collided, forming a painful knot in his heart. No matter how hard he tried, Maglor could not cope with this whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. His mind, riddled with grief and guilt, kept coming back to the same thing: Why did he stay? Why was he still alive after all that had happened?

He tried to find meaning in his existence, in his survival, but instead of answers, he found only emptiness. Everything that had once seemed important and meaningful was now a ghost of the past, and he didn't know how to live with this burden on his soul.

The shore of the ancient lake, once full of life and tranquility, now lost its charm and became another dark corner of Middle-earth where one could not let one's guard down for a moment. The water that had once glistened in the sun, reflecting the blue sky and the green of the surrounding forests, now seemed dark and menacing, as if it had absorbed the darkness and despair of the place. Its surface was no longer smooth and calm; the occasional ripples and waves that broke the silence gave the illusion that something unknown was stirring in the depths, ready to break free.

The branches of the trees that had once reached for the sky, as if celebrating their connection to the earth and water, were now bowed to the ground under the weight of grief, as if the trees themselves were mourning their lost lives. Their leaves were dull, stripped of their former luster, and fell to the ground like tears, showering the shore in silent mourning. The rustling of the leaves was like soft sobs, and the wind that blew between the branches brought echoes of days gone by, when this shore had been a place of rest and joy.

Maglor stood, his legs trembling as if they would not obey his will, but he forced himself to move. He knew he could not stay here, lost in his grief, for new challenges lay ahead. The world would not stop and he had to move on despite the weight of his loss. He had to find a new place where his soul could find some peace, but first he had to fulfill his last duty to his grandfather, to the one who had been not only a leader, but a symbol of faith to many.

- Finwë, - he said quietly, looking into his grandfather's calm face, a last smile of forgiveness and love frozen on it. - I will not fail you. I will fight as long as I have the strength.

Maglor took a deep breath, gathering what was left of his will. With great difficulty, but with a feeling of deep respect and awe, he lifted Finwë's body. It was heavier than he had expected, as if not only physical but also mental weight had pressed it to the ground. But Maglor knew he had to do this - to give his grandfather a proper sendoff.

He began gathering branches and kindling, using whatever he could find in the area. The trees, as if understanding his intentions, did not resist and gave up their dry branches and leaves. Soon a funeral pyre appeared before him, simple but filled with meaning and reverence. Maglor carefully laid Finwë's body on the branches, trying to be as gentle as possible, as if he were afraid of waking his grandfather.

When everything was ready, he lit the fire. The flames took hold of the outermost branches first, then spread confidently over the whole fire. It burned slowly, illuminating Maglor's face, which reflected all his pain and determination. The tongues of fire danced in the wind, as if bidding farewell to someone who had been great and powerful in Maglor's past, who had been the strength and will of the Noldor people.

The fire grew brighter, and Maglor, feeling the heat of the fire burning his face, hummed softly an old song he had heard long ago from Finwë herself. The song was full of sadness, but also of hope, of memories of times past and promises for the future. His voice, trembling but still strong, pierced the dark night, cutting through the silence like the last cry of a soul.

The fire lit up the dark night, and it seemed as if the stars themselves leaned closer to the earth to pay their last respects to the departed. Maglor continued to sing, each note seeming to drain what strength he had left, but he knew he had to end this song as his grandfather had ended his life. The wind whispered softly, taking the ashes and embers with it, and as the flames began to die down, Maglor felt his soul fill with renewed determination. He could not leave this place until his song was finished, until the fire had taken all that was left of Finwë.

When the flames finally died down, Maglor knelt before the still-warm embers and felt himself saying goodbye to the past with every breath. Now that his grandfather was gone, he was the only one who could carry on the memory of him and those who had fought and died for the future. Maglor knew that this journey would not be easy, but he promised himself and Finwë that he would fight as long as he had the strength to keep their legacy alive.

Much later, when the fire of the pyre had long since died down and the wind had scattered the ashes, Kanafinwe again pondered the question of why he himself had not disappeared when Finwë's life had faded away. It seemed that with the death of the last member of the house he held so dear, Maglor should have dissolved, become a mere shadow of the past. But he was still here, in this cruel world where every moment reminded him of loss and bitterness.

He was no expert in the theory of time, but he had understood something of Feanor's reasoning when he had been fascinated by it in his youth. His father had said that time was not just a series of moments, but something more complex and layered. Pheanor had argued that death did not mean total disappearance, that there were ties that could not be broken even when one left this world. These words had seemed abstract to Maglor at the time, but now, alone on the shores of the dark lake, they took on new meaning.

Maglor remembered Feanor speaking of the deep connection between members of their kind, of the threads of fate so intertwined that one could not exist without the other. Perhaps his own connection to the world was so deep that he could not simply dissolve into eternity after his grandfather's death. It was as if something was holding him back, not letting him go, forcing him to stay and carry the memory of everyone he cared about.

He felt that Arda needed him despite all the loss, or maybe it was he himself who couldn't accept such an end for his kind. Maglor could not find the exact answer, but something inside him told him that his time had not yet come, that there was something important ahead of him that he had to fulfill. These thoughts kept Kanafinwe awake, as if they were pulling him back into the past, making him think over every event, every decision, every step.

What was keeping him in this world? Why was he still here when everyone he loved was gone? The answer was elusive, beyond his understanding of the nature of time and fate, but Maglor felt he must find it before he could finally find peace. Maybe this was the last riddle he had to solve.

Kanafinwe stared up at the dark sky of Beleriand, where rare stars twinkled as if to remind him of times long past. Memories of his early years in these harsh lands surfaced in his mind, bringing with them the image of the young but determined elf who had once looked upon this desolate land with hope. Darkness had enveloped the world then, too, but it had been different - dense and ominous, poisoned by the presence of a Dark Lord whose influence extended far beyond Angband. Now, despite the loss and pain, the air was clear, free of that ancient filth. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, full of challenges, but he also knew that he had no right to give up. An inner voice told him that his role in the destiny of Arda was not over.

With a last gust of wind that lifted sparks into the night sky, Maglor looked away from the dying fire and took a last farewell look at the place where his grandfather now rested. He could not afford to linger here a moment longer. These lands held too much pain, too much loss, and despite his exhaustion and inner turmoil, Maglor forced himself to move on.

He left the shore where the pyre had burned for some time without looking back. Every step was difficult, but he walked, feeling with each step that he was moving away from the past and closer to his unknown future. Maglor did not know where this path would lead him, but one thing was certain: he would not give up, he would fight as long as the blood flowed in his veins, until the light of his soul was finally extinguished.